


New Moon Rising

by winterfool



Category: Charmed, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-01-12 14:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1188660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterfool/pseuds/winterfool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Demons are creatures of magic, but magic which has been turned to evil. The strength and abilities being werewolves might give you will enable you to stand longer against them, but you will not be able to overpower them or defeat them. The only thing that could do that would be magic used for good, and the only beings who wield that power are witches.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Unable to fight the oni and unsure what to do next, Scott takes Deaton's advice and puts out a call for help. But when inexperienced witch Melinda Halliwell answers, it doesn't take long to realise they might both be in over their heads. Somehow they will have to find a way to work together if they're going to defeat the nogitsune and save Stiles in the process.</p><p>Starts post 3x17, "Silverfinger" of Teen Wolf 3B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beacon for a Witch

“Oni?” Stiles looked around at his friends, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips curved downwards in a puzzled expression, “What the hell are oni?”

After the doctors working on Scott’s dad at the hospital had assured them that Agent McCall would be fine (something that Stiles still wasn’t sure was entirely a good thing; not that he wanted Scott’s dad to die, but Agent McCall was suspicious enough as it was, and now they had to try and explain away a ninja demon stabbing him), they had tacitly agreed to retreat to Scott’s house and discuss this latest development and their next move. Allison and her dad had joined them there, along with Isaac and Lydia, and now they were all sat around Scott’s living room, hot drinks in hand, while Stiles and Lydia were caught up on what was going on. 

The demons – the oni – had certainly left a lot destruction in their wake. Most of the windows were broken, only a few shards left sticking out of the frames, the gleams of moonlight that picked out their razor-sharp edges giving them a sinister appearance, like the house itself had claws or fangs. Furniture had been upended and splinters of wood covered the floor, lamps lay on their sides and there were dents and holes in several places in the walls. One section of floor had been stained dark red with blood, but Scott had hastily thrown a towel over it so no one had to look at it. Stiles could see Scott’s mom looking around at the mess and holding in a grimace. Explaining this to the insurance company, not to mention the neighbours, would be difficult. 

“They’re yokai,” Kira spoke from where she sat next to Scott. Something had been said about her being a ... a were-fox? What was the word – kitsune, that was it. Stiles had been more preoccupied with the fact that Scott had lied to him about it. “The translation varies but demons probably suffices.”

“Specifically they’re warriors, with one purpose – to hunt down dark spirits, called nogitsune.” Mr Argent was leaning against an undamaged stretch of wall, his arms folded. “What we thought were attacks were tests, to see whether or not any of you were possessed.” 

Stiles looked down at his hands, which had begun trembling faintly in his lap. Possessed? The word seemed to reverberate within his head, as if his ears were ringing. He didn’t seem to be looking at his hands any more, but at the blackboard in the chemistry classroom, at the atomic numbers spelling out Kira’s name that had been in his handwriting. At the key he had found on his keyring, that had opened up the chemistry closet. What had Scott said his dad had told him?

_A mass murderer on his own is bad enough. A mass murderer being controlled by someone? Far worse._

But what if wasn’t some _one_ but some _thing_?

His thoughts were interrupted by Lydia’s voice. “So the mark they left behind ...?”

Mr Argent looked over at her; she had lifted a hand to the raised mark behind her ear. “According to Katashi it’s the Japanese kanji for 'self', a mark to show you’ve passed the test.”

“But why were they targeting us? Because we’re supernatural beings?”

“Because we drew them here.” Scott’s expression was set in that familiar, determined way – his mouth pressed into a firm line, his eyes hard. It was the expression he wore when he thought he had to set something right.

Lydia frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The Nemeton,” Scott said, “It’s the only explanation. Deaton said when we sacrificed ourselves we’d be opening the door to a darkness, that we’d be giving the Nemeton power. That it would draw other beings here. We have to have drawn the oni here.” 

“Or a dark spirit,” Derek spoke from a corner, where he was ensconced in shadows as per usual. “And the oni followed to stop it. And maybe we should _let_ them, if that’s really what they are.”

A pregnant silence fell over the room as they considered this. If the nogitsune really was an evil spirit, why shouldn’t they let the oni deal with it – and leave them out of it? It could surely only mean good for them, and for the rest of Beacon Hills, if any evil was dealt with as quickly as possible. And of course it meant they could go back to their normal lives. Or at least as normal as their lives ever got. But the unspoken thought was clear in the tight lines and drawn mouths on all their faces: it was a pretty big ‘if’ that they’d be betting on.

Finally Scott cleared his throat. “Whether we drew an evil spirit or the oni, it’s still our responsibility. We have to fix it.” 

“But ... if it was our sacrifice that drew it, why have they not come after me or Stiles?” Allison pointed out. “Why Lydia, or Ethan, or Isaac?”

“You’re human.” Lydia’s voice was barely a whisper. Her eyes were fixed on her best friend, round and envious, seeming to say, _I wish I still was, too_. Or maybe Stiles just thought they did, because this was the first time he had ever thought being human was an enviable condition. Most of the time he was the one feeling envious, because he was more helpless, more vulnerable, less .... special. 

Especially the last few weeks, when he seemed to have lost the only trait that made him useful to the group – his ability to figure things out. First he had lost his ability to read, then he had started losing sleep and couldn’t focus, couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think. And now there was this big, unanswered question of why the code giving Kira’s name had been in _his_ handwriting.

“So, does that mean the nogitsune can only possess already supernatural beings?” Isaac asked, a furrow appearing in his brow.

All eyes turned either to Mr Argent, or Kira, the only people who seemed to have any understanding of this dark spirit.

Neither seemed to have any answers.

“I only have storybooks from when I was a kid,” Kira said, shaking her head. “They’re not hugely detailed.”

Mr Argent sighed. “I don’t know. We could check the family bestiary, but ... our family has only ever really dealt with werewolves. Demons and evil spirits really aren’t our thing.”

“Well, then, whose thing is it?” Aidan snapped, making Stiles jump. He’d forgotten the twins were even here. He didn’t know why the twins _were_ here, why Scott had let them stay. They had still helped Kali to kill Boyd. Fighting to protect Scott once didn’t make them any more trustworthy overall. He scowled as Aiden continued, “Do you know _anyone_ useful? Anyone who might know about this crap and actually give us answers?”

There was a pause, and then,

“I could ask Deaton,” Scott suggested.

“You think he would know?” Melissa asked. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “But he knew about the kanima, the Darach, the Nemeton and how to save you ... and what it might cause. It’s possible he might know something about this, too. It’s worth asking anyway.”

 

It was lucky for them the oni had attacked right after sundown; if it had been the middle of the night Melissa might have made them wait until the next day to call Scott’s boss. But since it wasn’t quite eleven they were able to persuade her it was best to try and sort this – whatever this was – out sooner or later. Deaton was surprised to get Scott’s call and even more surprised when he turned up at the McCall house not long afterwards at the welcome party waiting for him. 

“Clearly you’ve had quite the day,” he said, looking around at the destruction left by the oni with that quiet watchfulness he always possessed. 

“You could say that.” Scott gave a weak smile. “Can you help?”

Deaton didn’t answer for a moment. He took an empty seat and looked around at them all quietly, thoughtful, before speaking. “Possibly. You have to understand, while I have some knowledge of the supernatural world, my only real experience is with werewolves, since that is who I am supposed to advise. I know a little about kitsune, as they are relatives, of a kind, to werewolves. Demons and spirits are the remit of another kind of being.”

That caused more than a couple of frowns. Across the room Derek looked more frustrated than ever, while Mr Argent looked disappointed and Scott confused. Only Kira looked a little happy, since Deaton might at least be able to offer her answers about herself. 

Mr Argent asked the question foremost in Stiles’ mind. “What other kind of being, exactly?”

A smile crossed Deaton’s face, and he turned, strangely, to Isaac. “Do you remember what you asked me the first time we met?”

“Uhhhh ....” 

“You asked if I was a witch,” Deaton supplied. “I told you I am not. I am a druid. I have knowledge of werewolves and herb lore, which gives me some skill at healing your kind, but the closest thing to magic I can achieve is activating mountain ash – and any human who believes can do that. But there _are_ witches, with their own abilities, and it is they who deal with the demons of the world.”

Scott looked unsure. “So ... you’re saying we need a witch?”

“I think so. Demons are creatures of magic, but magic which has been turned to evil. As, I suspect, would be a nogitsune or a dark spirit. The strength and abilities being werewolves – or a banshee,” he added, with a glance at Lydia, “might give you will enable you to stand longer against them, but you will not be able to overpower them or defeat them. The only thing that could do that would be magic used for good, and the only beings who wield that power are witches.”

Stiles ran a hand through his air and spoke for the first time that evening; he was surprised at how normal and confident his voice sounded. “Okay. So where do we find a witch?”

Deaton spread his hands. “Alas, I know of none who currently reside in Beacon Hills. So we must call for one.”

“Call for one? Are they listed in the yellow pages?” 

“No, Stiles,” the druid said good naturedly, “I mean a magic call. We must send a cry for help out into the ether and wait for someone to answer it.”

“And how do we do that?”

Rather than answering verbally, Deaton reached into the bag he had brought with him and pulled out a small glass vial filled with what looked like a grainier, greener version of mountain ash – Stiles wondered if it was a singular herb, or a mixture. 

“What’s that?” Scott asked. 

“You could call it a potion, of sorts. It’s a mixture of the ingredients witches use in their magic,” Deaton explained, holding it out for Scott to take.

“So what do we do with it?”

“Use it to perform a ritual. Nothing dangerous,” he added quickly, seeing Scott’s wariness as well as the alarm of both parents in the room. The last time anyone in Beacon Hills had performed a ritual, after all, it had been ritual sacrifice in order to gain dark power. “Empty the vial into a bowl. Clear your mind and concentrate only on your need for help, for a witch’s aid. Then burn the mixture. The smoke will carry your message into the ether where a witch can pick it up.” 

There was a deeply sceptical silence throughout the room. Somehow werewolves and kanimas and even oni were one thing – they were things they could see, things they could understand (to an extent) no matter how strange. But wiccan rituals to call a witch through the ether? No matter how silly it felt to think it, the whole thing seemed far-fetched and unbelievable. 

But ...

“Okay. It’s our best shot at this point,” Scott pointed out, holding the vial firmly in his hand. “This isn’t like the kanima, or even the Darach.” Across the room, Derek visibly tensed. “None of us really understand what we’re up against, or have any idea how to stop it. So we might as well try. How long will we have to wait for an answer?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps a few hours. Perhaps a few days.” 

“Well, then, I guess we’d better do this now.” His face was etched with the determined look that they had all come to be familiar with by now, that Stiles had known for years as the look that meant Scott had made up his mind and wasn’t about to change it any time soon.

Wordlessly his mother disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a small ceramic bowl that she placed on the mostly undamaged coffee table. Scott sat down on the floor in front of it, crossing his legs, and uncorked the vial to pour the mixture into the bowl. He looked down at it for a moment, then back up at the group.

“Uh, anybody got a lighter?”

Everybody’s hands immediately went to their pockets; Mr Argent withdrew one from his jacket and tossed it to Scott. 

“Thanks.”

Scott turned his eyes back to the bowl and took a deep breath. The minutes seemed to stretch out as he breathed in and out, staring at the bowl in front of it, the silence in the room deepening around them. Stiles eyes flicked to a clock on the wall and he couldn’t stop himself from counting the ticks of the second hand. He wanted to fidget around in his seat, but didn’t want to disturb Scott’s concentration. He could see Lydia beginning to get uncomfortable as well, picking at her cuticles. Allison looked towards Isaac and then hurriedly away again. Derek was silently drumming his fingers on his arm. 

Finally Scott clicked the lighter on and touched the flame to the ... potion. It caught fire quickly, in a loud burst that reminded Stiles of a sparkler catching fire. A coil of green smoke twisted lazily up from it and into the air.

“It’s done.” Deaton’s voice broke the silence, making them all jump. “Now we wait.” 

 

The smoke drifted towards the broken windows, carried out on the cool night air. It dissipated into wisps on the breeze, but the power that it had been imbued with still pulsed within it, like shockwaves rippling out through space and across the country, a beacon signalling in the darkness and waiting for an answer.

Nearly two hundred miles away from Beacon Hills, Melinda Halliwell woke from a dream feeling like someone was calling for her.


	2. Generation Hex

The air in her room was still; not quite silent, with the night air gently rustling her curtains, and the low, distant hum of car engines running a street away, but still, and tense, like the whole house was holding its breath. For a while she lay on her back in the dark, trying to pinpoint where the feeling of being called had come from. There were no voices, no movement from further down the hall to suggest her parents were awake. But then it had been a wordless sort of call, a ... pulling, somewhere inside. 

Was this her Whitelighter side emerging? Her first charge, in need of help and making some kind of subconscious connection?

Much as Melinda would have liked to think so, the feeling she had experienced hadn’t been the sort of jingle she had sometimes distantly heard when Aunt Paige or one of her brothers were called by their charges. Maybe it had simply been a part of the dream. She knew she had been dreaming, although she couldn’t quite remember what about; it had dissolved on the air as she woke, and now only fragments of images remained.

_White light ... fireflies ..._

It hadn’t started like that. She had actually been dreaming about next week’s history exam (which she still needed to study for) when everything she had changed. She hadn’t been in a lecture theatre any more, but a white room and in front of her –

_A tree stump, huge and worn with age, with an uncountable number of rings and ... a wolf ..._

She thought the wolf had been speaking to her. Maybe that was where the feeling was coming from. 

A muted clatter from downstairs broke into her thoughts. A chill settled over her, raising goosebumps on her arms.

Slowly, Melinda pushed herself up out of bed and crept towards her door. Her hair, tied in a messy knot to keep it out of her face as she slept, slumped down her neck to rest on her shoulders, but the extra warmth did nothing to make her feel better. As she eased open her door, she reached for her brother’s old baseball bat, that she kept leaning against the wall. Technically speaking she didn’t really need a weapon, she knew, but the feel of the cool metal beneath her fingertips gave her courage. 

Another quiet crash made her freeze halfway down the hall. Perhaps she should wake her parents ... but, no, wasn’t she always saying she wished her family would let her handle things by herself more? She could at least find out what was making the noise before alarming her mother. And, besides, it might not even be a demon. As often as demon attacks had woken Melinda up as a child, it had just as often been a member of her extended family needing something. 

Clutching the bat tightly, she padded softly down the stairs – being sure to avoid the one that creaked – but as she reached the bottom, she heard the clinking of things in the kitchen being moved, followed this time by a low voice hissing, “Damn it.”

Relief broke over Melinda like a wave, washing away the knot in her stomach and all the tension in her muscles. Now smiling, she poked her head around the kitchen door.

“Chris, what are you doing?”

Her brother jumped where he was searching through the kitchen cupboards, banging his head on the underside of a shelf, and swore under his breath. “Ow! Don’t sneak up on me like that,” he grumbled, coming out of the cupboard and turning around. “I could have – is that my baseball bat?”

He had spotted the bat now dangling loosely from her fingers. Melinda glanced down at it and shrugged. “I thought you might be a demon.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“You do remember how you don’t actually live here anymore, right? So when I hear noises in the night, I’m not gonna automatically assume it’s you raiding the kitchen.”

“One, you do know you’re a witch, right? You can freeze demons. And two,” Chris turned back round to the cupboard and pulled out a box of cereal. “You can blame Wyatt. He was supposed to do the grocery shopping this week, but he didn’t, so we have no food, and I’m _starving_.”

Melinda grinned. Coming into the kitchen proper, she set the bat down and slid into a chair at the table. Her two older brothers had moved into an apartment in the city a few months ago – they were in their twenties now, and had finished college, and they wanted their own space and privacy. At first Melinda had thought it would be weird being alone with her parents, but in truth she almost didn’t notice the difference since Chris and Wyatt were around so often, either for potion ingredients or to check the Book of Shadows or, more often, because they were out of food. “Hey, you’re the one that’s always telling me I shouldn’t be completely reliant on my powers. And what are you doing up so late, anyway?”

It wasn’t the question she wanted to ask, but she didn’t quite know what her brother would make of her having strange dreams about talking wolves. She wasn’t the one with the power of premonition in the family so chances were he would just laugh, but he might take it seriously. And then ...? Her family were overprotective as it was, if they thought she had started having supernatural dreams, they’d probably smother her in their efforts to make sure she was safe. Not that she didn’t appreciate their caring, but it could be stifling; her brothers weren’t the only ones who needed to stretch their wings. 

Coming over, Chris sat down opposite her and held out the cereal box so she could take a handful. “Working. A security guard found a body at a law firm in the city, so I went over to have a look. Doesn’t look like anything supernatural, but still gotta report it so I had to write it all up.” 

After working on both his high school and college newspapers and majoring in journalism, Chris had landed a job as a junior crime reporter at The San Francisco Chronicle. Technically he was still supposed to be covering small time stuff – minor robberies, lawsuits, etc. – but through their Uncle Henry he had a contact in the SFPD homicide division that tipped him off whenever there was a murder, so Chris was often the first reporter on the scene. Of course, Sergeant Rees thought he was just helping a young reporter make a name for himself and advance his career, and to extent he was; but Chris also used the legitimate excuse to be at crime scenes to keep an eye out for any sign of demonic or supernatural activity. 

“What about you?” he asked now, “Did I wake you?” 

“No.” Melinda shook her head, looking down at her hands. “Just had some trouble sleeping.” 

She could feel Chris’ eyes on her and had to remind herself not to pick at her cuticles, knowing it would be a sure giveaway that she was feeling disturbed about something. 

“Melly? You okay?”

“Yeah. I just ...” She paused, then looked up to meet his gaze. “What did it feel like, the first time you got a charge?”

“A Whitelighter charge?”

She nodded. “I mean, how did you know? That you were being called?”

“Are you kidding?” he snorted, “It felt like someone was trying to drill into my brain. At first, anyway, when the connection was just developing. Once it was fully open and I’d accepted it, it wasn’t painful any more. Why?” He leaned forward across the table. “Did you ...?”

She shook her head, cutting him off. “No, no. I don’t think so. I, um, when I woke up I kind of felt like someone was calling me, but I think it was just a dream. It certainly wasn’t like a drill.”

Nodding slowly, he sat back in his chair. He didn’t say anything, eating another handful of cereal, but she knew from the slight tilt of his head that he was thinking over what she’d said. Unlike Wyatt, who had a tendency to say whatever came into his head, Chris had always been quieter, more thoughtful, wanting to go over all the information himself before he talked it over with other people or came to a decision. 

“You’re sure it was a dream? What kind of feeling was it?”

“I don’t know ... like, you know when someone yells for you when you have headphones on? And you think you hear them but you’re not really sure?” 

His mouth twisted to one side. “What were you dreaming about?”

“I don’t really remember,” she shrugged. “I was taking an exam, I think.” 

Well, it wasn’t untrue.

Chris blinked, amusement curving his features. “An exam? I used to get dreams like that all the time in college. Sounds you’re just stressed out.” Maybe he was right; she had been worrying about the test before she fell asleep. The uncertainty must have shown on her face, because he put a reassuring hand over hers. “It’s probably nothing, Mel, but it’s always possible it’s something else. I wasn’t that much older than you when I got my first charge. If you feel like you’re being called again, well, then you’ll know. And if you don’t, you don’t. So don’t worry about it.” 

She gave a weak smile. “Mr Neurotic’s telling _me_ not to worry?”

He pulled a face and went back to eating out of the cereal box. 

“So what do I do if I do feel like I’m being called again?”

“Well, you have to try and sense where it’s coming from – the same way you sense me or Wyatt, or the rest of the family when you’re orbing.”

“And then?”

“Then either it’s the Elders calling, and they’ll tell you who your charge is and where they are. Or your charge has connected to you and is calling on their own. But if that happens they might not know they’re doing it.” 

Drawing her knees up to her chin, Melinda considered that this situation would be a lot easier to consider if she was sure she had felt something – and if she was sure she wanted to have felt something. Part of her felt like she was trying to convince herself she really had been called as much as Chris, which she supposed wasn’t too surprising given how ingrained in her it was that the world really wasn’t how it appeared. Sheknew it was dangerous to dismiss anything lightly. But much as she got fed up with her parents and her brothers trying to shield her from every demon attack and warlock around, she wasn’t sure she was ready to take on the responsibilities of a Whitelighter. She definitely wasn’t ready to try and juggle those responsibilities around a college schedule. But were those the only two explanations?

“And there’s no way of magically calling someone that isn’t a Whitelighter thing?”

Chris thought for a moment. “There was that thing Mom said about the Zodiac calling for help ... but she and Billie got that when they were divining for trouble generally. They didn’t feel the call.” 

She considered that for a moment, then gave a slight shake of her head and a weary smile. “I don’t know why I’m letting this bug me. You’re right, I should just wait and see if I feel it again, and then maybe check the Book of Shadows. But for now I’m gonna go back to bed.” Feeling happier, she uncurled and got up from her seat. “Thanks, Chris.”

He smiled, and reached up to gently squeeze the hand she’d stretched out towards him. “Night, Mel.” 

 

If she had thought that her concerns would disappear with the morning light, she was wrong – the feeling and her conversation were Chris were the first thing on her mind when she woke, and preyed on her thoughts all through the morning. She didn’t realise how much her attention was drifting from her classes to wondering if the dream she only remembered pieces of was connected to the weird feeling she had had or if it was entirely irrelevant until mid-way through the day, when her friend Lizzy elbowed her in the side and she snapped back into focus to realise their class was over and instead of making notes she had doodled wolves and trees all over the page. 

“Are you okay?” Lizzy asked, as Melinda scrabbled to get her books together before heading out of the lecture theatre. 

“Yeah, yeah, just a little distracted.”

She knew that wasn’t really an answer, and she could still feel her friend’s concern as they walked down the corridor, but there wasn’t any way to explain it to someone who didn’t know of the magical world without making herself sound insane. Absently she reached up to play with the triquetra pendant dangling round her neck and wondered for what must have been the millionth time if she was just being silly. Magic was such a huge part of her life and identity, it was hard not to let it colour her perspective of everything. But maybe it was just stress. 

After all, there was very little reason to assume that she was ready for her first charge as a Whitelighter. She had barely helped any innocents with her witch powers, why would the Elders think she was ready to guide a new witch or a future Whitelighter? Not to mention she didn’t even have all of her Whitelighter powers, yet; she could orb, and was good with languages, but she couldn’t heal. Although Chris couldn’t heal yet, either, and he had charges ...

... she was overthinking this. She always overthought things. If there was one trait she could undoubtedly say she had inherited from her mother, it was her talent for worrying. She couldn’t just let anything go. Even when she tried, she found herself turning things over and over in her mind. 

“Mel?”

She turned back to Lizzy, who was still watching her anxiously. “Yeah?”

“Are you sure you’re okay? It’s not like you to zone out like this.”

“Yes, I promise. I’m just ... tired. Chris was working late and came by to raid the kitchen in the middle of the night.” Telling half-truths would start becoming a habit at this rate. “The noise woke me up.”

“Maybe you should go home and get some sleep.”

“Mm, maybe.” 

By this time they had come out of the building and started out across the campus. The day was bright and clear, and the sunlight streamed down onto them. Throngs of students and teachers crowded the campus, some running to classes, others ambling along the paths between buildings and some just hanging out in groups on the wide stretch of lawn, enjoying a free period. The low hum of chatter filled the air, punctuated here and there by a burst of laughter or the thrum of a car passing the campus. The two girls threaded their way between people, headed towards the student café.

A thought occurred to Melinda as they walked, and she glanced over at Lizzy. “Hey, you’re taking a mythology and folklore class, right?”

She had considered taking the class herself, but apart from feeling like she would only have been doing it for an easy grade, she had been worried she might confuse the mythology she would need to study with her knowledge of the actual supernatural world.

“Yeah, why?”

“Have you covered anything about wolves? Like as symbols, or their meaning in folklore?”

For the briefest moment Lizzy seemed uncertain, but then she lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “Well, it depends on what culture you’re talking about. Different mythologies attach different meanings to things. Wolves can mean danger, destruction and greed, but also strength, good luck, nurturing and protection. They can symbolise warriors, hunters, the devil or guides.”

“So ... a lot.”

“Basically. Does this have to do with what you were doodling?” she asked.

“Sort of.” Melinda tried to come up with an explanation. “I had a weird dream last night and I think there a wolf in it. I know it’s just a dream, but I’ve always kind of liked the idea of dreams having meaning, you know?”

Lizzy didn’t look quite convinced, but she nodded anyway. “What was it doing? The wolf, in your dream?”

Melinda hesitated a moment before answering, knowing that if their positions were reversed she wouldn’t be able to help laughing. “Talking to me.”

But Lizzy didn’t laugh. She took it strangely seriously, her lips curving downwards into a faint frown. “About what?”

“I don’t remember.” Melinda shrugged, pushing open the door to the café. Most of the small, round tables set out were already taken, a lot of people hunched over laptops and books while they ate or drank. There were a couple of empty seats at the far side, but there was also a long queue snaking back towards the door from the counter. The girls exchanged a look, knowing that by the time they had reached the front of the line and been served there was a good chance those seats would have been taken and no others become vacant. At least it was a nice day, so they could go and sit outside. 

“Well, if it was talking it might have been trying to guide you,” Lizzy said, as they took their place in line. “But if you were asleep and heard Chris come in, it might just have been the noise of that affecting your dream ... or was this after he woke you up?”

Melinda shook her head, frowning. “No, it was before. I hadn’t thought of that.”

They lapsed back into silence for a while, Lizzy studying the menu board while Melinda once again berated herself for not just assuming there was a non-magical explanation. Maybe she just felt left out of the family legacy, because her brothers were so concerned with protecting her. Maybe she was latching on to this to make herself feel like more of a witch, to give herself a purpose. Maybe she just wanted to feel like she could help someone for once, instead of the rest of her family.

Maybe she shouldn’t have taken that Psychology 101 class last year. 

“You getting your usual?” Lizzy asked.

She looked around and up at the menu board on the wall behind the counter, but as she did so the world seemed to shift around her, as if she had just stood up too quickly and the blood rushed to her head. She felt herself stagger slightly, but she was only vaguely aware of her body and everything around her because at the back of her mind, tugging at her consciousness, was that feeling of someone calling, someone crying out. It was an instinct more than a sound, the same way you knew that you were being watched from a distance.

Lizzy had grabbed her elbow to steady her and was asking if she was okay, but the words themselves barely registered. Melinda shook her head to try and clear it and gave a weak smile.

“I think you were right and I should just go home ... rest up for a while. I’ll call you later.”

Before Lizzy could reply she had ducked out of the café and disappeared amongst the clusters of the students walking around the campus. 

 

She did go to back to the Manor first, so she could leave her books in her room but also to check the Book of Shadows before she did anything. For once she was glad her brothers had gotten jobs and moved out, as it meant that, with both her parents also working, there was no one in the house to ask her why she was home so early or why she was headed up to the attic. Maybe she should have spoken to her mother, or called Chris and let him know she’d felt whatever it was again, but she didn’t want to alarm anyone. After all, it might be something perfectly simple that she could take care of before the afternoon was over. 

The Book lay open on the stand in the attic where it had been all of Melinda’s life. By now it was about as thick as two encyclopaedias stuck together, and she knew from experience how long it would take to go through it page by page. At least she knew it well enough that she could skip over a good number of pages, as she didn’t need to look up any specific beings, spells or vanquishes – for now anyway. She still had no idea what sort of person or creature might be waiting at the other end of the call or signal she was sensing.

It turned out there was very little about magical calls though. There was information about Whitelighters and the Elders’ call that she already knew, and a recipe for the divining potion that Chris had talked about last night. She wondered whether it would be worth her time to try making it, but ... she had already sensed the call, so what was the point? The divining potion could show signs or portents, but it didn’t give any more information. And if Chris was right and she could tap into her innate Whitelighter senses, then she could already find her potential charge. 

There was a page about telepathy and telepathic calling. Telepathy wasn’t one of her natural powers, but she supposed it was possible that whoever was calling her was a telepath and hadn’t mastered their power yet. There was only one way to find out for certain though. 

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered to herself.

Closing her eyes, she reached out for the sense of being called, for the feeling that kept nagging at the back of her mind. She tried to visualise it as a physical connection, a link back to the person responsible that she just needed to follow. Feeling it pulsing at back of her mind, she opened her eyes, took a breath – and orbed to it. 

Orbing was always an odd experience, as if the world was dissolving and then reforming before her, but this was the first time she had ever orbed without knowing the destination and nerves were dancing around her stomach.

When the world reformed, she was in a living room – one that looked like the Manor after a demon had attacked. A window was broken and furniture had been upended, and if Melinda wasn’t mistaken that was blood staining the floor. A lot of blood. It looked like whomever had called her was really in trouble. 

As for who had called her, when she turned around she realised there were three guys in the room, all staring at her as if she had appeared from nowhere – which, to be fair, she kind of had. Two of them looked like high-schoolers, a few years younger than she was, but probably not related; the short of the two, although still a good bit taller than Melinda, looked to be of Hispanic or Latino ethnicity, but the taller wasn’t. They had been in the middle of righting the furniture, and the tall one now looked towards the Latino boy as though for instructions. 

The third guy looked older than both the others, and was probably three or four years older than Melinda herself, with a dark scruff of beard and hard eyes. He reacted the most quickly, going from taken-aback to suspicious in a few seconds. While Melinda was taking everything in, he dropped the broom he was holding and before she could say anything had covered the distance between them and thrown her back against a wall. 

Her head cracked painfully against the plaster, stars briefly dancing before her vision. She was aware that the older guy was holding her in place, one arm against her throat, and heard him demanded in a low, snarling growl, “Who are you and what do you want?” 

As her vision cleared she realised, with a dim sense of irony, that his eyes had turned from green to a cold, steel blue that were glaring piercingly at her, and that his teeth had extended to fangs as he spoke. More hair had sprouted like sideburns on his face and when she glanced down at his hands his nails were more like claws. 

They were werewolves. 

Not perfectly simple after all.


	3. Be Careful What You Witch For

Sunlight streaming through the window woke Scott, dragging him out of the dark, comforting depths of unconsciousness. He groaned as he became aware of the leaden feeling in his limbs and head, wanting nothing more than the roll over and go back to sleep. But even as he twisted around in his sheets, the events of the night before hit him like a ton of bricks and his eyes flew open. Lifting one hand, he felt behind his ear and the raised skin told him that it was all real and not some elaborate dream. 

Which meant his dad ... 

Scrambling out of bed, Scott almost tripped over the pile of clothes he had tossed to one side before collapsing last night and all but ran out of his room and down the stairs. The living room was still an absolute mess, with glass and furniture strewn everywhere, but Scott headed straight through to the kitchen, where he found his mother behind the counter, bent over a notepad. She looked up in surprise when she heard him enter.

“Hey, I thought you’d still be asleep. I was just leaving you a note.”

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, sweetie. But I can’t miss work – they’re shorthanded at the hospital as it is.”

He hesitated a moment, then blurted out, “Do you know how Dad is?” 

“I called earlier,” she nodded, “They were able to fix the damage in his arm, and he’s had a blood transfusion. They’re gonna keep him for observation today, but he’ll be out tomorrow.”

His shoulders slumped with relief. It was true he didn’t like his father; every time he saw Rafael he couldn’t help boiling with rage and resentment for the way Rafael had walked out on their family – not that he had been a model husband and father before he left. But that didn’t mean he wanted him to die. On the contrary, watching the oni’s sword cut through flesh and his father’s blood spilling over across the floor had sent cold fear spiralling through him. 

“I should have protected him ... I...,” He clenched his hands into fists at his side, “What good is being an Alpha if I can’t even ...”

“Scott, sweetie.” Melissa stepped out from around the counter and reached up to stroke his cheek. “It’s not your fault. You did everything you could. And he’s going to be _fine_.”

Scott nodded, but he couldn’t keep himself from thinking that if he had just been more careful when trying to get Kira’s phone back that his father wouldn’t have been there, or if he had convinced Rafael to leave ... 

If he hadn’t helped draw the oni or the nogitsune to Beacon Hills in the first place.

“Look, I’ve really got to get going, but promise me you are not going to keep blaming yourself. Promise me, Scott.”

“Okay, okay, I promise.”

“Good.” She smiled, and kissed his cheek. “I’ve called the school and told them you and Isaac won’t be in today.”

He took a minute to remember it was still technically a school day – he had been so distracted by everything he had completely forgotten – and a glance at the clock told him it was nearly noon already and he had missed half his classes. At least he knew he had done his homework, determined to keep his promise to his mother not let his schoolwork slide again, so he could hand that in on Monday.

“I said we had a break-in, and explained about your dad. I figured you might need the day. But don’t think you won’t be making it up, mister.” She pointed a stern finger at him. “And I expect the living room to be cleaned up when I get home.”

A smile crept over Scott’s face; his mother’s strength never failed to amaze him. Most of the time he was pretty sure the universe had screwed up somehow and she was the True Alpha, not him. But he couldn’t be too mad because it meant he had her to lean on when everything seemed to be going to hell. And it seemed that way more days that not recently. 

“Okay. Thanks, Mom.”

She gave him one last smile and a kiss on the cheek, then slung her bag over her shoulder and disappeared out the door, leaving Scott to contemplate the mess that was the living room.

They had been too exhausted to even consider cleaning it last night; after Scott had set the beacon for the witch, there had been some discussion of trying to formulate a back-up plan – there was no guarantee that the signal would be answered or that, if it was, whomever answered it would even be able to help. Deaton had been particularly interested in Mr Argent’s story about the nogitsune that the oni had killed in the Japan, and asked him to go over the details several times (which had left Scott with a very vivid image of the man being stabbed multiple times and held aloft on the demons’ swords). Why Deaton wanted to know precisely where the nogitsune had been killed and where the blood had spattered was unclear, but it seemed to have given him some kind of idea. He wouldn’t disclose exactly what it was yet, saying he needed to do some research and would contact Scott when he had something concrete to tell him.

In the meantime they would deal with the nogitsune as they had dealt with the kanima and the Darach – Lydia would go through Allison’s family bestiary, translating the archaic Latin in the hope that it might yield something useful. Stiles would trawl the internet for anything remotely helpful, and Kira had volunteered to try and find anything more specific about the Japanese lore. Derek and the twins were going to continue patrolling for trouble, with an emphasis on protecting Scott. And Scott ... well, that left him trying to protect the rest of Beacon Hills and make sure no one else got hurt. To make sure no one in his pack was in unnecessary danger. 

But first he needed to clean the living room. And maybe visit his dad at the hospital, if Rafael was sedated and unlikely to start asking awkward questions about why Scott and Kira had broken into his office again. Scott still didn’t know how he was going to explain that one, other than giving his dad the same fake story he had spun Stiles and that wasn’t likely to garner much sympathy, so was opting to hope that being stabbed would have given Rafael more important things to worry about than the tiny matter of his son tampering with evidence.

Cleaning was obviously going to be more than a one-person job, so after showering and dressing Scott traipsed along to Isaac’s room to rope the other boy into helping. He had discovered in the weeks since Isaac had moved in that he slept lightly, although he was getting progressively less jumpy. The first time Scott had tried to wake Isaac he had only had to open his door; now it took a light touch to his arm and he bolted upright, flinching away from the contact.

“Uggghhtwhat – oh. Scott.” He relaxed as he recognised his alpha. “Everything okay? Are we late for school?”

“My mom called and said we’re not going in. But we need to clean up from last night.” 

“Oh. Okay.” Isaac rubbed his eyes sleepily. “Can we eat first?”

Scott grinned. “Duh. Come on.”

 

By the time they had finished eating, breakfast had gone from a couple of slices of toast each to an entire loaf of bread between them. When Isaac pointed this out, Scott glanced guiltily at the empty packet and said they would pick up a new one before his mom got home. Assuming they had cleaned everything up by then – by the looks of things it might be an all day job. Isaac had raised his eyebrows on coming downstairs and seeing the mess in the hard light of day; although they had seen worse over the past year when dealing with the kanima and then the Alpha pack, this was the first time they had had to worry about cleaning up after whatever supernatural creature was after them. 

They started with the glass, sweeping it up off the floor and into a trash bag. Even if they did self-heal, there was little point in sorting out the furniture if they were going to be constantly cutting their feet and bleeding over the floor. They already had one blood stain to deal with (which Scott was particularly keen to leave until last, although he kept throwing uneasy glances at the towel covering it), and they didn’t need any more. 

Crouching down, Isaac picked up one of the larger pieces of glass and twirled it thoughtfully between his fingers. Light from the window caught the jagged edge in a bright gleam that was reflected back out as a skittering pattern across the wall. He watched the light and shadows playing over the paint for a few moments, before turning to Scott and speaking quietly.

“So, this nogitsune.”

Scott stiffened, the muscles in his body locking rigid for a brief second as he grappled for control, and then carried on sweeping. “Yeah?”

“It’s not in you or me, Derek, the twins, or Lydia,” he said, listing them off on his fingers. 

“Or Kira,” Scott added, glancing sideways at him. 

“Or Kira.”

“Yeah, so?” 

Dropping the shard of glass into the trash bag, Isaac straightened up and looked directly at him with a troubled frown. “That means it’s either possessing someone human or ... there’s some other supernatural being in Beacon Hills.”

Scott’s sweeping slowed as he nodded. His own eyebrows had knotted together in concern, and his mouth pulled into a downward curve. “Deaton said when we gave power to Nemeton we might draw other things there, so we can’t rule out the latter possibility. But from what you and Mr Argent said about Katashi’s story ... it sounds like his boss in Japan was human, so I don’t think we can rely on the idea that the nogitsune only possess supernatural creatures.”

He paused for a moment, looking towards the broken window, then gave a heavy sigh. Not for the first time he felt too young for this kind of responsibility, too unsure of himself and what he was doing. He wondered what his life would be like if he hadn’t been bitten by Peter that night in the woods. Would his biggest cares right now be the fact that his dad was in town, and how thinking about the cute new girl in school made him feel like he needed to reach for his inhaler?

Allison’s mom would still be alive, that was for sure. So would Matt. Jackson would still be around (although he’d still be a jerk) and with Lydia, and all the murders he had committed as the kanima would never have happened. Gerard would be searching for some other way to cure his cancer.

But would Derek have been able to stop Peter? Or would he be dead and Peter still on a murderous rampage? Would Boyd and Erica be alive or dead, and where would Isaac be right now? Would the Alpha pack still have come? Would Jennifer still have followed and made the sacrifices – including Scott’s own mom? Only this time Scott wouldn’t have been able to save her. 

There was little point in speculating. It seemed bad things would have happened in Beacon Hills no matter what. 

“But either way doesn’t make much of a difference.”

Isaac crossed his arms. “What do you mean?”

Scott turned back to him. “I mean, yeah, okay, we should be worried in case the nogitsune could take over a werewolf and use their abilities but either way we still don’t know how to deal it other than killing the host.”

“What if there is no other way?” Isaac asked quietly. 

“There’ll be another way.”

There was a heavy silence. Scott could see trust warring with doubt on Isaac’s face. He knew that Isaac looked to him as his Alpha as much as his friend, that over the last few months an implicit trust had developed between them; it was Isaac’s unwavering faith in him as much as Stiles’ support and Allison’s encouragement that made him try to act like the Alpha he now was. But Scott also knew that Isaac didn’t have the same faith and trust in the rest of the world. 

“We saved Jackson,” Scott reminded him, trying to inject as much confidence into his words as he could. “We’ll find a way to save whoever’s possessed by the nogitsune.”

Isaac held his gaze a moment longer, then slowly nodded. “Okay.”

He seemed convinced, at least for now, as he went back to clearing the floor. At least Scott hoped he was convinced, because in truth he wasn’t entirely sure he had convinced himself. But if they could save Jackson from his own unresolved issues, then surely there was a way to save someone from possession?

“So how do we find the nogitsune?”

“I ... have no idea,” Scott admitted, feeling nettled. “Maybe we could follow the oni?”

Isaac considered that for a moment. “But how do we know where they’re gonna show up?”

“We ... don’t,” Scott had to concede. For all Stiles complained incessantly about Isaac’s negativity – which, some days, was entirely understandable – a lot of the time his more critical way of thinking was useful. Although it was frustrating to just be left with problems and no solutions. 

His eyes fell on the small ceramic bowl he had used in Deaton’s ritual the night before. Only a small pile of ash remained at the bottom now. 

“Maybe whoever answers that,” he nodded towards it, “will know.”

Isaac raised one eyebrow. “You think it’ll work?”

“Deaton hasn’t let me down before. Besides, it really it our best shot at this point.”

“Yeah, but ... a witch? How do we know we can trust them?”

Exasperated, Scott ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t _know_ , Isaac. But do we really have a choice? We know barely anything about the nogitsune or what it might want, or how to get to rid of it. We need help.”

Isaac opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a knock at the front door. The two boys exchanged a look. Dropping the broom, Scott picked his way across the room to the door and warily opened it a fraction – to be greeted by a familiar scowling face. His shoulders slumped.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Who else would it be?” Derek asked. 

“I don’t know.”

“Are you gonna make me stand out here all day?”

“What? Oh, no. Come in.” He stood back, opening the door fully to let the older werewolf through. Derek nodded in greeting to Isaac then stood for a moment, looking around at the mess.

Following behind him, Scott waited for Derek to speak but when nothing was forthcoming asked curiously, “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t at school.”

“Are – are you still following me?” 

Derek didn’t answer for a moment, instead, to Scott’s great surprise, picking up the broom he had abandoned and starting to sweep up the remaining glass on the floor. Scott was about to repeat the question, but then Derek spoke without looking at him. “I wanted to check everything was okay. We don’t know who the nogitsune is, or what it might want. And given you’re an Alpha now, there is a good chance it might try to come after you.”

Scott frowned. “At the moment I’d say it’s more likely to be after Kira. She’s the one Barrow went after, and he was told to go after her by someone ...”

He trailed off as he remembered Stiles, freaked out and panicking, dragging him into the chemistry room to show him the numbers written in Stiles’ handwriting and the key to the chemistry closet on his keyring ...

No. No, there was no way. It couldn’t be.

“Yeah, and you were the one who messed it up. Good chance it wants revenge for that.”

“So you’re just gonna follow me around indefinitely?”

“Until we know what’s going on, yeah.”

Scott didn’t know whether to feel frustrated, exasperated or appreciative, and his brain eventually seemed to settle on a mixture of all three. He was glad he had Derek to watch his back and look out for him, but he definitely didn’t need a constant bodyguard dogging his steps every minute of every day. He was capable of looking after himself, something he rather thought he had proven over the last year. And watching him certainly wasn’t going to get them any more answers. 

But he also knew that arguing with Derek tended to have very little effect. And if yesterday had taught him anything it was that he really needed to work on the whole sensing-people-near-him thing. As easy as it had been to stop the twins from following him everywhere, until Derek had made himself known Scott hadn’t even known he was there. Which was kind of creepy, in a way.

At least, he considered as he grabbed the trash bag and started angrily throwing the bigger glass shards into it, he was getting a helping hand of it today. 

Isaac, he noticed, was keeping his head down and electing not to get involved.

“Have you thought about what I said?” He looked over at Derek. “About just letting the oni take care of it.”

“If they can.”

“They’ve got more of a chance than we do.”

“At killing it.”

“So?”

“ _So_ that means killing whoever it’s possessing, too. And it might not be like Peter or Gerard. It might be someone innocent, Derek.”

Derek didn’t say anything, but his fingers tightened on the broom as he swept the last of the glass into the trash bag and a crease appeared between his eyebrows. It occurred to Scott that a year ago Derek wouldn’t have hesitated to reply that they had to think about the greater good, just as a year ago Scott wouldn’t have had a shred of doubt that they could save whomever was possessed by the nogitsune. 

“I know.” Derek’s voice was quiet. “But you’re right, that this is isn’t like Peter or Gerard, or anything else we’ve faced. We have no idea, really, what we’re up against. We have to at least consider the possibility that we might not have a choice.”

“We stopped Jackson. We even stopped Deucalion without killing him.”

“I’m not sure Deucalion _can_ be killed at this point. But Jackson ... that was a close-run thing, Scott. Can we really afford to risk coming that close again?”

Scott turned away, not wanting Derek to be right, wanting to have some kind of solution to throw back at him. 

“What if it was someone we know?” he asked softly. “What if it had been me? Or what if it was ... Allison, or ...” he almost faltered, “Stiles. Could you really bring yourself to kill them?”

There was a heavy silence, that seemed to stretch out unbearably. After what probably only a few seconds but felt longer, Scott turned back and saw Derek had stopped sweeping and was staring, troubled, down at the floor. As much to give himself something to do as anything, Scott moved across the room and started heaving the couch back up from where it had been upended. He inadvertently kicked the towel off his father's blood stain as he did so, but didn't bother putting it back. After the first heave, the weight of the couch lessened and he glanced up to see Isaac had crossed to help him.

Derek finally cleared his throat. “What if the alternative is watching them wreak destruction on the rest of the town?”

“Guys ...” Isaac had stopped moving.

Scott ignored him, and said to Derek, “We have to try. Every possible option that we can think of. I can’t – I won’t think about it unless I’ve done everything in my power and _more_ to try and save them.”

“Guys.”

“Okay,” Derek nodded. “We’ll try. But if the rest of our lives are at stake --”

“We still have to try.”

“ _Guys_!” 

They jumped, looking round exasperatedly at Isaac’s shout. “What?”

He pointed seemingly to the middle of the room. For a moment there was nothing, but then a brief swirl of small blue lights appeared and then vanished again. 

“That.”

Derek and Scott immediately got to their feet, and Scott could see Derek was already preparing to shift, his nails extending downwards into thick, deadly sharp claws.

The lights appeared again, but this time there were more of them and they lasted longer – and when they reappeared again it was in a thick shower that slowly coalesced into the shape of a person before shimmering away and leaving a girl in their stead.

Scott’s first thought that was she was short. Really short. She was facing away from them, so there wasn’t much else to take in, other than that she was wearing jeans and jacket and had long, dark brown hair. After a moment she turned around, and the brief widening of her eyes made her seem almost as surprised to see them as they were to see her. 

That moment was all it took for Derek to recover and before Scott could do anything he had dropped the broom and dived across the room to slam the girl back into the wall. Her head hit the plaster with a resounding crack that made Scott winced, and she was clearly dazed for a few seconds. By the time her gaze cleared Derek had fully shifted and was holding her up with one hand so that her feet were dangling above the floor, and one arm was pressed against her threat.

In a deep wolf's growl, he snarled, “Who are you and what do you want?”

Scott was confused when, instead of fear, a dawning comprehension appeared on her face as she looked down at the claws Derek was holding very near her jugular. 

“I _said_ , who are you and what do you want?” Derek repeated himself, emphasising the words by slamming her back against the wall again.

She hissed in pain and glared down at him. “Melinda. And _you_ called _me_.”

“What?”

Instead of answering, she was once again engulfed in blue lights - and then she was gone, leaving Derek threatening empty air. He span around on his heel and Scott started forward, but then the lights appeared again on the other side of the room and the girl – Melinda – was back, armed folded and stony-faced.

“If this is how you treat people you invite, I’d hate to see how you treat trespassers,” she said, sarcasm making her words harsh. 

“What do you mean, invited?” Scott asked, before Derek tried to attack again.

She turned her gaze on him, giving him the chance to get a better look at her. If he had to guess he would have said she was older than him and Isaac, though not by much. Her eyes were a matching brown to her hair and fierce; there was a challenge in them as she watched him. Her slightly squared jaw was set in an angry line, although given she had just been thrown against a wall by a werewolf that was only to be expected.

“I mean, one of you called me for help.” Scott’s eyes darted to the bowl. “And I answered – out of sheer good will, I might add. So being attacked wasn’t exactly the welcome I was expecting.”

“Called ... you mean, you’re a witch?” Scott almost stumbled over the words in his eagerness.

Some of the anger had left her face, but was replaced by a slightly confused wariness. “Yes.”

“I can’t believe it worked,” Isaac muttered behind him.

“You ... did call me, didn’t you?”

The sudden uncertainty in her voice made her sound a lot younger, but Scott barely noticed. 

“Yes! Yes, we did.” He nodded, and pointed to the bowl. “With that. I called. I wasn’t sure it would actually work, but it did, and you’re here, and that’s good. That’s very good.” 

“It is,” she said flatly.

Scott grinned. “Yes.”

There was a pause, in which they just looked at each other. Then Melinda raised an eyebrow and said, “So who are you?”

“Oh! Right, sorry. I’m Scott. McCall. This is Isaac Lahey, and Derek Hale. You’re Melinda?”

“Yeah. Melinda Halliwell.”

Derek now stepped forward; he had shifted back, apparently contented that she wasn’t going to do them any immediate harm, but he still wore a suspicious scowl. “How do we know she’s really the witch we called?”

She shot Derek another glare, but her hand moved to a pendant around her neck in a way that suggested she wasn’t even aware she was doing so; the movement caught Scott’s eye and he realised the necklace looked a little like the celtic fivefold knot although with only three distinct interlinked points overlaid with a circle. Doubt crept over him like a chill, and he remembered telling Isaac only a short while ago that even if a witch did appear there was no guarantee they could trust them. 

“Do you know a lot of people that can orb across rooms?” Scott tuned back in to hear Melinda’s dry response to Derek.

The older werewolf was unimpressed. “I didn’t say you weren’t _a_ witch. I asked if you’re really the witch we want.”

“Were you calling someone specifically?”

Derek couldn’t answer that, but that only seemed to make him angrier. 

“That symbol on your necklace,” Scott interrupted, deciding it was best just to be blunt. “What is it?”

“This?” She looked down at the pendant in her hand. “It’s called a triquetra. It’s kind of a family symbol.” Raising her eyes again, she looked at them each in turn and sighed. “Look, you sent out a signal for a witch. I was the one that got it. At a very inconvenient time, by the way, my best friend probably thinks I’m a head case right about now. What exactly were you expecting? For FedEx to knock on your door and say, ‘Hi, here’s the witch you ordered?’”

There was an awkward silence and shuffling of feet from Scott and Isaac, who didn’t know what to say. In truth, Scott hadn’t even thought about _how_ the signal might be answered. And he could understand why a witch answering a distress call would be put out to find themselves attacked and considered untrustworthy.

“Sorry ... we’ve never met a witch before. The signal was kind of a last resort,” he admitted. 

“Can all witches – what did you call it? – orb, then?” Isaac asked, looking curious.

For some reason, that made Melinda glanced sheepishly away like a child getting caught with their hand in a cookie jar. “Uh, no. Technically speaking ... it’s not actually a witch power.”

Scott and Isaac exchanged a confused glance, but Derek immediately leapt on her confession and demanded, “What does that mean?”

“..... I’m only half witch.”

“ _Half_ witch?” Scott echoed.

Melinda sighed, nodding. “Half witch, half whitelighter.”

“What’s a whitelighter?”

“I guess you’d call them guides? They’re kind of like guardian angels ... they look after and help good witches.” 

“So you’re half witch, half guardian angel?” Derek looked highly sceptical, and his voice dripped with contempt.

Melinda scowled at him. “Half whitelighter. I said they’re _like_ guardian angels, not that they _are_ guardian angels. God.” She turned to Scott, “Is he always this much of an ass, or am I getting special treatment?”

Isaac started to laugh but when Derek’s gaze slid towards him he managed to turn it into a cough, and Scott decided it was probably best to change the subject.

“So, what are your witch powers?” 

At first he wasn’t sure she had heard, or was going to answer, as she started looking round the room with a faint frown on her face. Her eyes fell on the bowl they had used to set the signal and, to Scott’s confusion, she picked it up and after a moment of a hesitation threw it across the room. Scott moved to catch it, but then Melinda flicked her hands and – the bowl _froze_ halfway through the air. 

When it didn’t move or drop, even after several seconds had passed, Scott could feel his jaw dropping in amazement. Glancing at the others, he could Isaac looked equally stunned and even Derek was impressed enough to stop scowling. A smile was playing about Melinda’s mouth, and Scott got the impression she was struggling not to look too pleased with their reactions. 

Isaac had stepped forward and tentatively reached out to touch the bowl where it was frozen. It didn’t move. “That is so cool.” 

“I can also ... umm. Wait. Is it valuable?” She was looking at Scott, who gave a shrug. 

“I don’t think so. Why?” 

She motioned for Isaac to step back. When he did so, she took a breath a flicked her hands out again, and all three werewolves jumped as in a small, contained burst of flame and smoke the bowl exploded. 

“Wow.” Scott didn’t know what else to say. He had been thinking of witches as something similar to Deaton and the emissaries ... with herbs and lore and magic that was more ritualistic, not _actual_ magical powers that could have come from _Harry Potter_. 

Melinda looked embarrassed now, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Those are my active witch powers. But I can also, you know, say spells and scry for things and make potions ....” Her voice trailed off, and then she coughed and shook her head. “So, what was it you wanted my help with?” 

“Oh, right!” He couldn’t believe they hadn’t gotten to that yet. The sooner they could find a solution, the better. “It’s kind of a long story, but the short version is that there have been demon attacks the last couple of nights – oni, specifically.” 

“Oni?” Melinda’s face scrunched up in a puzzled frown. “But they hunt down other demons.” 

“Yeah ... we think they’re trying to find a nogitsune - an evil kitsune - one that’s possessed someone.” 

Her expression cleared into sudden understanding. “And you want to stop them killing the person that’s possessed.” 

Relief flooded Scott; up until now there had been a niggling worry at the back of his mind that Melinda might agree with Derek, that she might think the best course of action would just be to let the oni do their work. It would be the easiest, Scott couldn’t deny that, but he just couldn’t bring himself to agree to kill someone when there might be another way. “Exactly.” 

“Who is it that’s possessed?” 

“Um ... we don’t exactly know ...” 

“You don’t _know_?” 

“Can’t you find out?” Derek jumped in again, having gotten all signs of being impressed by Melinda’s power under control. “You said you could do spells, can’t you do one to find out?” 

Melinda shrugged. “Maybe. It’s not that simple. I can try and find a spell, or write one, but there’s no guarantee. I mean, the point of a demon possessing someone is so they’re _hidden_ and hard to find out.” 

“But once we find out,” Scott said anxiously, “can you un-possess them? Get rid of the nogitsune?” 

“I can make a depossessing potion. But forcing the nogitsune out of the host won’t necessarily vanquish it.” 

Scott let out a breath, though he could see Derek wasn’t entirely happy with her answer. It was something, though. Only a short while ago they had had no guarantee that the nogitsune could be removed from the host at all. Now they knew they had a chance to save whoever it was that was possessed. That had to be their priority. After they had done that, they could focus on finishing the nogitsune off. 

“How do we kill it?” Derek asked. “Have you ever dealt with one before?” 

“N-no. Not a nogitsune.” 

“But you have dealt with demons before?” 

Anger sparking in her eyes again, she thrust her chin out defiantly. “Yes.” 

“How many?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“How many demons?” Derek repeated, snapping each word out like a weapon. 

She looked flustered; her hands were out of her pockets and clenched into fists at her side. “A – a few.” 

“A _few_?” 

“I don’t keep a tally, okay?” 

“Give me a ballpark figure!”

“W-well my family’s, you know, really protective ---” 

“Your family?” Derek snorted disbelievingly. “Have you ever actually dealt with a demon on your own?” 

Melinda flushed a dark pink. “And how many demons have you dealt with?” 

“You haven’t, have you? You’ve never dealt with one on your own. This is just great. We’ve got a complete novice on our hands. Scott,” he swung around, “This is ridiculous. She knows barely more than we do. This isn’t going to help us.” 

“Oh, _screw you_!” she shouted, stopping Scott from replying. Indignation seemed to radiate off her in waves, and Scott eyed her hands warily as she raised them, remembering how easily she had blown up the bowl. “You called for a witch. I was the one who got it. I didn't volunteer, you’re the one asking for _my_ help. I don’t have to stand here and take this crap!” 

“Please!” Scott held up his hands in supplication. “Please. Derek, she’s right, we need help.” 

Derek sighed. “From someone who doesn’t know what she’s even doing?” 

“Do we know what we’re doing?” Isaac pointed out drily. 

“You know what?” Melinda crossed her arms, glaring at Derek. “It looks to me like you have issues of your own to sort out. Why don’t you deal with them and if you decide you actually want my help,” her gaze shifted to Scott, and softened into a friendlier look, “give me a call.” 

“But --” 

Before Scott could finish speaking, the blue lights she had entered with returned in a sweeping rush, engulfing her small frame, and when they dissipated into the air she had gone. Scott stared at the space where she’d been standing for several seconds, frustration warring with disappointment and confusion in his mind, then turned to the other two with a helpless shrug. 

“She didn’t leave a phone number.” 


	4. Family Legacy

Melinda was still fuming as she rematerialised in her bedroom in the manor, her body feeling alternately hot and cold as anger and humiliation washed over her in waves. Her hands were half-way through the air before she remembered the trouble she had been in the last time she had blown something up because she was pissed off, and instead turned and lashed out with a kick at her bag – only to wince when her foot connected with a book, sending a bolt of pain shooting through her toes. 

What the hell was that guy’s problem? She had shown up to answer their call, to try and help solve their problem, but he had been all over her as if she were his enemy! She could have ignored them – the calls would probably have stopped bothering her in time – and, okay, maybe she wasn’t the most experienced witch, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t capable. Clearly they weren’t doing so well by themselves, so why that Derek felt the right get up on some kind of high horse –

A snarl of frustration escaped her.

Well, screw him. They could deal with their nogitsune without her. She had a test to study for anyway.

Muttering angrily under her breath, she grabbed up her bag and retrieved the book that she had inadvertently kicked. She flipped it open to the relative chapter – the first battle of the Civil War – then flopped down at her desk and started reading. Drumming a tattoo with her nails on the opposite page, she read the first paragraph about five times before realising she hadn’t taken in a single word. 

Focus, Melinda, focus, she told herself angrily turning her eye back to the top of the page. She managed this time to concentrate long enough to take in the strategic position and importance of Fort Sumter, where the battle had been fought, before her thoughts starting drifting off again. 

What if whomever was possessed by this nogitsune, whomever it was Scott wanted to save, was her innocent? What if Scott was her innocent, since it was his call that had reached her? Could she really bring herself to just turn her back on them without a second thought? She was the child of a freaking Charmed One; she had been raised to fight evil, to do everything in her power to protect people. Knowingly letting a demon terrorise a town in California with only a couple of ignorant teenaged werewolves to fight it wasn’t exactly doing everything she could to protect Beacon Hills. 

Chris would laugh in her face if she told him she had refused to help because a werewolf had embarrassed her and pissed her off. After all, he’d had to deal with anger and mistrust from their own parents when he was trying to save Wyatt from turning evil. He always pulled that card, even though they all knew he only had a few muddled memories from his former life. But knowing that didn’t stop a cold wave of shame from washing over Melinda. 

Then she remembered the contemptuous sneer on Derek’s lips and she was right back to anger. 

With a curse she slammed the book shut again, and after a moment’s irritated hesitation she got to her feet and stormed out of her room and up to the attic. The Book of Shadows was open where she had left it. Turning back to the start of the Book, she started flipping through the pages, scanning each entry for any mention of nogitsune. 

If they did change their minds, she reasoned, she would need to be well informed so she could show that arrogant, jumped-up werewolf exactly how capable a witch she was. 

No, if Scott changed his mind, she corrected herself. If he really was the one who had sent the call that it was more than like that he was indeed the innocent she was supposed to help. She couldn’t just ignore an innocent – it would be ignoring a part of herself, her entire family heritage. And Scott seemed like a good kid. It wasn’t his fault he was friends with an ass. 

The repetitive motion of flipping through the pages was somehow calming, and skim-reading the contents of the Book soon distracted her from her anger. It had been a while since she had just looked through the Book, rather than finding a specific spell or potion (usually to help Wyatt and Chris) and not paying attention to anything else. There was so much knowledge in here; generations’ worth of Halliwell witches had added to it over centuries. She and her brothers and cousins were supposed to add to it, but she wasn’t sure what else there was to add. It seemed like everything was covered in these pages – glancing at her watch told her she had already been browsing through them for nearly an hour, and she wasn’t even a quarter of the way through the entire Book.

But, she supposed, the Underworld changed and evolved along with the good magic. Just as she and family came up with new spells and potions, they came up with new methods of attack and ways of harming people. She remembered as she was growing up watching her mother or one of her aunts pouring over the Books, editing and changing entries to add in new things they had discovered or experienced.

“Never think you know all there is to know,” her Aunt Phoebe was fond of saying. “Believe me, kid, you start assuming you know everything the demons can throw at you, your guard’ll come down – and someone’ll get hurt.”

And people had been hurt. She had seen the pain on her family’s faces when they lost an innocent. 

She had visited her Aunt Prue’s grave. 

She would never forgive herself if someone got hurt and she could have done something to help, but hadn’t because of her mortified pride. It was more important that she found a way to stop the nogitsune than anything else. 

It took another while before she found the right page, flipping past the profiles of various demons, creatures and warlocks until she found the heading Kitsune. Not much was written – only a few short paragraphs, suggesting her ancestors hadn’t had much experience with them, or at least not enough to learn much about them.

_Kistune are fox spirits which exist in human form,_ the page read. _While most kitsune are not wholly evil, they are tricksters by nature and must therefore be treated with caution._

_Kitsune are extremely long-lived, but it is not clearly exactly how long a kistune might live for. It is clear that the older a kitsune is the more powerful it is, as a kitsune’s power appears to be contained within its tails and as the kistune grows it develops more tail. Their tails may be sacrificed to summon lesser demons such as Oni to aid them – the power of the demon summoned will be roughly equivalent to the power of the tail sacrificed._

_A distinctive aura surrounds kitsune, showing their true fox shape. Most kitsune quickly learn to conceal this aura, but a powerful enough spell to reveal that which has been magically concealed may allow a witch to see it. Where younger kitsune have not yet learned to conceal their aura, it will be naturally visible to a witch._

_There are a five types of kitsune: celestial, wild, ocean, thunder and void (or nogitsune). They all possess supernatural speed and when they rub their tails together can generate foxfire, but what other powers they may benefit from is unclear._

There was another paragraph at the bottom of the page, labelled Nogitsune.

_Nogitsune, or void kitsune, are the most dangerous type of kitsune. They are dark spirits who feed off negative emotions caused pain and chaos, and so delight in destruction for destruction’s sake. A nogitsune is not born like other kitsune appear to be, but is summoned or created by another kitsune. It thus needs a host to cause the chaos it craves – this host will often be the kitsune that called for it, but is sometimes a mortal. Removing the nogitsune from the host will stop it, but not kill it. It is unclear if a nogitsune spirit can be completely destroyed, but it can be contained by a power great than itself. It is has increased speed and strength and is incredibly intelligent, a foe that must be taken extremely seriously._

It felt like Melinda’s blood had turned to ice in her veins. Goosebumps prickled the flesh on her arms, and a hole seemed to have formed somewhere around her navel. From the sounds of things, whichever of her ancestors had come up against a nogitsune before hadn’t been able to defeat it, had perhaps only be incredibly lucky to stop it destroying everything in its path. It wasn’t like other demons, with a purpose and motive that could be figured out and even used to stop it. Melinda was fairly certain even the power of Charmed Ones would be tested by going up against this thing.

Beacon Hills was in serious trouble. 

Chewing anxiously on her lip, she wondered if she should pass this over to her mother, or her brothers. They were more experienced, and the Charmed Ones had more power to offer. But ... she was the one who had received the distress call. Her mother and aunts had always said there were no coincidences. Things happened for a reason, so it followed that the powers-that-be had a reason for making sure she answered Scott. She was supposed to help him.

Only ... how?

Sighing, she flipped another few pages until she found the entry for Oni. It was even shorter than the entry on kitsune.

_Oni are demon warriors. They are sentient beings but not sapient, that do not exist independently but are summoned into being to perform a specific task. They are neither good nor evil, but exist only to perform the task set by their master and will let nothing deter them from the pursuit of that task. They will kill anyone they perceive to be a threat or obstacle to their purpose._

_Oni can only materialise between sunset and sunrise, but they cannot be killed by mortal weapons. Mountain ash can hinder them, but if summoned with enough power can break through._

Relentless, indestructible demon warriors who wouldn’t stop until they had achieved their goal – that being, from what Scott had said, the destruction of the nogitsune? Melinda could see why the young werewolf had decided to ask for help, especially if the nogitsune was possessing an innocent. No mortal weapons ... did that mean magic could stop them?

If the oni had to be summoned, that meant there had to be another player in Beacon Hills. Someone else hunting for the nogitsune, that wasn’t Scott or his pack. Come to that, someone had to have summoned the nogitsune, too if it was possessing a human. But who? And why?

Melinda frowned. She had a feeling she was only scraping the surface, that there was much more to what was going on in Beacon Hills than she – and probably Scott – knew about. If it was a jigsaw puzzle, she only had the edge pieces: a frame to hang the details on, but the picture itself was still unknown.

There was only one thing to do in a time like this. Worry gnawing at her stomach, Melinda grabbed the book and orbed down to the kitchen, where she set the book down and started searching for a batch of her mom’s chocolate-chip cookies. There was always a spare batch somewhere in the house, for when demon hunting or work or school got stressful. 

She found a cookie-filled tupperware at the back of one of the cupboards, and then settled herself down at the table to keep reading while she ate. There wasn’t much on either the nogitsune or the oni, and no particular vanquishing potion for either, so it was going to be a matter of trial-and-error. If she made a selection of strong vanquishing potions, a few depossessing ones for the nogitsune, or maybe something to slow it down or take away its powers while it was still in the host .....

As she turned the pages looking for suitable recipes, she came to heading: Werewolf. Curious, she stopped and began to read.

_Werewolves are a species of shape-shifter. They will usually be found in packs consisting of an Alpha, the leader, and several Betas. The more Betas there are in a pack, the stronger the Alpha will be. Sometime werewolves choose to live alone, or are exiled from the pack, and are known as Omegas. Betas can become Alphas by killing one, or, in extremely rare cases, through pure force of will. The latter are known as True Alphas._

_Most werewolves are humans turned by an Alpha’s bite, but on rare occasions they are born to other werewolves._

_Werewolves benefit from increased speed, strength and stamina, heightened senses, and accelerated healing. Silver bullets do not, as is commonly believed, kill werewolves, but a large enough dose of wolfsbane will. Mountain ash can form a barrier that werewolves cannot cross._

_Werewolves are often confused with Wendigos, who are also shapeshifters who are affected by a full moon. But while Wendigos only transform during the three days of the full moon, werewolves can transform at any time although during the full moon they may lose control and be overtaken by animal instinct and aggression. Most werewolves retain a semi-human appearance when transformed, but stronger werewolves can look like normal wolves when transformed._

_Mostly due to their human origins, werewolves are considered neutral creatures. They are capable of acting for both good and evil, but do not intrinsically err towards either side._

“Neutral, huh?” Melinda murmured aloud to herself. There weren’t a lot of neutral creatures around, at least not in her experience. Although a balance had to be maintained between good and evil, the beings she had come into contact with had tended to be on one side or the other.

That said, from the looks of things Scott and his pack weren’t neutral – or they weren’t any more. If they were fighting demons and a nogitsune, while trying to save the life of whomever was possessed, then they were a force for good. Which would make it even more important that Melinda find a way to help them, no matter how much she was insulted or humiliated. Saving the life of an innocent person, or innocent people, had to come before her personal feelings and pride. 

It was a shame, though, she considered, that even as people were divided up into ‘good’ and ‘evil’ that didn’t translate to ‘nice’ and ‘unlikeable’. She had met demons and evil creatures who were still charming and affable to talk to, even while they were planning to destroy you. And as Derek clearly showed, you could be on the side of good and still be a jackass. 

_Stop it_ , she silently chided herself. She didn’t know why she was letting this guy get under her skin so much. Yes, it had been frustrated to be attacked and openly doubted when they had asked for her help, but maybe she had just caught him on a bad day. They were dealing with a nogitsune and oni – two creatures it seemed virtually impossible to defeat. He had every right to be suspicious and to want to know the help they had ask for would actually help. Maybe he had been a bit rude about it, but, hey, it wasn’t as if she’d been especially forthcoming about her inexperience. _Let it go_.

The sound of the doorbell chiming interrupted her thoughts. Surprised, she jerked her head round to stare in the direction of the front door, wondering who would be calling in the middle of the day, before coming to her sense and getting up to answer it.

“Lizzy!” She couldn’t keep the exclamation from her lips when she saw her friend hovering on the step. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking up on you.” Lizzy gave a tiny smile. “You didn’t show up for our next class, or answer your phone ... I was concerned.”

 _Crap._ She hadn’t even realised how much time had passed, she had been so caught up in other things. And her phone would still be in her bag where she had left it in her room. This was why she left demon hunting to her brothers (their overprotective streak aside), it just ate into her time so much without her even noticing.

“So ... are you okay?”

“What? Oh, yes, sorry, I ... uh,” How could she explain this away? “A ... friend called, wanted some advice about something and I ... lost track of time.”

Lizzy didn’t look convinced.

“Do you want to come in? I was just having one of my mom’s cookies.” That was a little unfair, and Melinda knew it. No one could refuse her mom’s cookies. Not mention the possibility that Chris might be at the house would undoubtedly have already crossed Lizzy’s mind. But as much as she appreciated her friend’s concern, Melinda knew she didn’t have a good enough cover story if Lizzy pushed too hard and she didn’t want to lie to her friend, so she needed to distract her. 

“Uh, yeah, okay. Sure.” Lizzy nodded, and followed her back inside. 

“So, what did I miss in class? Can I borrow your notes?” Melinda asked over her should as she led her along the hallway to the kitchen. 

“Yeah, of course. You didn’t miss a whole lot – we went over Bhaba’s essay, the one he gave last week, and how it can be applied to our reading. He gave us another essay for next week, Spivak. I got you a copy.”

Leaning down to get the box of cookies back out of the cupboard, Melinda grimaced. Her last attempt to take on Spivak hadn’t gone well. Academics seemed to have some unspoken rule that the more unintelligible an essay was the better it was. “Fantastic.”

She could hear the sound of Lizzy rummaging around her bag, presumably looking for a copy of the essay, then as she straightened up the other girl spoke in a strangely wary tone, “Mel ... what’s this ...?”

Turning, a cold hand seemed to grip Melinda’s insides as she realised the Book of Shadows was still open on the table. “I, um...”

 _Oh, god_! How could she explain this? She couldn’t very well just blurt out the family secret. And she couldn’t pass it off as part of a mythology class because Lizzy was taking a mythology class and knew very well that Melinda wasn’t. But why else would someone have a huge old book open to a page about werewolves? She could feel Lizzy’s eyes boring into her, and she rather thought she might be on the verge of a panic attack. 

“Is this about your dream, still?”

Dream? “Yes!” Melinda practically shouted the word out of sheer relief. “Yes. The dream. It was still bugging me. And, I, um, I remembered Mom had some old cult books in the attic so I just thought I’d have a look.”

It took every ounce of self-control she had not to dive across the kitchen but walk calmly, hand Lizzy the box of cookies and shut the book with what she hoped was an airy wave of her hand. 

“It’s stupid, I know, but I just thought -”

“- you think it was a werewolf?”

“Oh, no, I don’t know, that was just there...”

“Werewolves aren’t ...” Lizzy didn’t even seemed to be paying much attention to her. Her eyes were focused off at a distance as she took a bite out of a cookie, a frown curving her mouth. One hand was raised up to her chest like she was clutching a necklace underneath her shirt, the way Melinda often reached for her triquetra pendant without thinking. Then the moment passed and Lizzy shook her head, as though clearing her thoughts and gave a weak grin. “I mean, why would it be a werewolf? Have you been watching any horror movies lately?”

Melinda shrugged, pulling a face. “ _No_ , thank you. I don’t know, I thought maybe that was why it was talking. In my dream, I mean.”

Lizzy’s eyebrow flicked slightly upwards. “It’s just a dream, Melly. Don’t get too ... caught up in trying to make it mean something it doesn’t.”

“What, do you have something against wolves?”

She meant it as a joke, but for some reason Lizzy’s gaze slid away from hers. “Kind of. I don’t like them.”

Melinda frowned. “Why not?”

“I just don’t, okay?”

“Okay ...” 

An awkward silence fell between them, and Melinda wished she had taken another cookie for herself just so she something to chew on and an excuse not to talk. She had never known Lizzy to be evasive about something, but there was something raw about her expression of dislike that Melinda just didn’t want to push. It was strange, and Melinda didn’t really know how to respond to it, whether to try and get her friend to open up or to leave it well alone. 

In the end she didn’t have to make the decision, as Lizzy reached into her bag and pulled out a sheaf of stapled papers. “Here’s the essay. I should get going, I’ve still got reading to do for my mythology class tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay.” Melinda took the essay and, in an effort to try and ease the tension, adding teasingly, “Should I tell Chris you said hi?”

Lizzy gave her a look, but then a smile appeared on her face. The awkwardness in the room dissipated in an instant and they were laughing by the time they got to the front door. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” 

“Tomorrow,” Melinda nodded, waving as Lizzy made her way down the path to her car. 

When Lizzy had driven away, Melinda shut the door with a flick of her hand and headed back to the kitchen with a determined frown. She could figure out what was going on with her friend tomorrow. Right now she had some potions to start brewing.


	5. Riddled

Unable to sleep, Scott lay on his back staring at the ceiling. Everything in the house and outside was still in the darkness, but he couldn’t seem to shut his mind off. He kept thinking about the nogitsune, the oni; every part of him seemed tense, waiting for the next attack. Not to mention on top of everything else his attention in school was wandering – he had found himself drifting off, worrying about the demons, several times today. He couldn’t break his promise to his mom, as well. He needed to find a solution, and soon.

It was almost a relief when his phone started vibrating on his nightstand, breaking into the light, fitful doze that was the closest he could get to actual sleep. Then he remembered how late it was. Shifting on his bed, he reached over and saw Stiles’ name on the caller I.D. 

“Hey man, what’s up?” he answered, a hint of worry colouring his voice. When nothing but static answered him, he frowned. “Stiles?”

There was only more static – and then what sounded like heavy, panting breathing.

A feeling of unease prickled over Scott’s skin. “Stiles, are you there?”

There was a pause. “Scott?”

The edge of fear in Stiles’ voice, like he was having one of his attacks, made Scott sit up straight, the feeling of unease coalescing into a heavy knot in his stomach.

“Hey, yeah, I’m here. Are you okay? Can you hear me?” he asked, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, ready to get up and run to Stiles’ house if needed.

“I-I don’t know where I am, I don’t know how I got here” Stiles’ voice was strangely quiet, but that didn’t hide the panic in his words, “I think I was sleep walking.”

Scott tried to think calmly, rationally. “Okay, uh, um, can you see anything? Just, can you tell me what you see?” 

“It’s dark, it’s hard to see. There’s something wrong with my --”

Something seemed to lurch in Scott’s stomach as Stiles suddenly stopped talking. He looked at his phone, to make sure he hadn’t accidentally pressed something, but the screen was declaring the call ended. Rising to his feet, he immediately pressed the button to call Stiles back, taking breaths so that he didn’t launch into an all-out panic himself.

“Hey.”

“Stiles -”

“This is Stiles,” the automated message cut across him, “And you missed me. Leave a messa-”

Frustrated, Scott cut it off and tried again. He ran a hand through his hair as it rang, and could feel his fingers trembling against his skull.

“Hey, this is Sti--”

Cutting it off again, he stared down at his phone. Maybe Stiles was trying to call him back at the same time. He stared down at Stiles’ contact photo on his phone screen, willing it to ring. “Come on. Come on.”

It had barely vibrated before he answered anxiously. 

“Stiles!”

“Scott, I don’t think I can get out of here. I can’t move.” 

Scott’s insides seemed to be turning to ice. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles sounded so freaked out, like he was trying not to cry.“It’s so dark, I can’t see much. Something’s wrong with my leg, it’s stuck on – something, it’s – I think it’s bleeding.”

“How bad? Stiles, how bad is it?” There was silence and Scott thought he might vomit. “Stiles, are you there? Can you hear me?”

“There’s some kind of smell down here. Something smells terrible! It’s brutal, my eyes are watering.” 

Scott had heard enough – enough to know that something needed to do something, that Stiles needed help, and he didn’t know how to give it. “Okay, listen, I’m gonna call your dad.”

“No, no no no no, don’t do that,” Stiles pleaded.

“But your dad -” _is the Sherriff, has resources, has a right to know_. Scott wasn’t sure which argument he was going to use but Stiles cut him off before one could fall out.

“He do – he doesn’t – just please don’t call him. Promise me you won’t. He already worries about me too much, please.”

“What if I can’t find you?” Scott pressed, suddenly feeling very much his sixteen years. He wanted to run to a parent, to be told what to do and that everything would be alright. He had no idea how to go about finding his injured, missing and terrified best friend. “Stiles, I can’t make a promise like that!”

“No, no, just _please_ , don’t call him, come find me. You can do it, he doesn’t have to know, Scott, you can find me.”

Panic seemed to be constricting his chest, making it hard to breathe. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Ohhh, I gotta call you back.” And suddenly he couldn’t breathe at all. “I have to turn the phone off.”

“What? No! Hey, wait, what --”

“I’m gonna call you right back.”

“Hold on, Stiles. Wait, hold on, man--” 

But it was too late. The other end of the phone was silenced. Taking his phone away from his ear, Scott stared at it in horror. Why the hell would Stiles have to turn off the phone? Where was he? Was there something else there?

Scott dived at his bedside table, fumbling at his tried to turn his lamp on and open the drawers at the same time. As the light clicked on he started haphazardly pulling clothes out.

“Isaac!” he shouted as he tried to focus long enough to tell tshirts from shorts and pants, “Isaac, get up! I need your help! ISAAC!”

The door flung open as he pulled on a sweater and Isaac almost fell through, still half-asleep. “What’s wrong?”

Scott flung his motorcycle helmet at him. “It’s Stiles. Get dressed.”

“What’s wrong with Stiles?” Isaac looked at the helmet in his hands, nonplussed but frowning.

There was a moment of tense silence as Scott tried to formulate the words to explain. Finally, with dawning anxiety, he had to look up and confess: “I don’t know.” 

***

He wasn’t sure how long it took them to get dressed, whether it was minutes or seconds, but as they were practically flying down the stairs his phone started buzzing again. Eagerly he snatched it up, dropping his bag in his haste, almost talking before he had answered. “Stiles?”

“Did you call him?” Stiles answered him in a frenzied whisper, “Did you call my dad?”

“No. Just Isaac. We’re coming to find you.” Isaac loomed over him as he spoke, listening intently to hear the other end of the conversation. “Can you figure out where you are? Try to find something to tell us where to look.”

“It’s a basement ... s-some – some kind of ... it’s some kind of basement,” Stiles managed to stammer out.

Scott frowned, trying to think. “In a house?”

“No, it looks bigger. Like industrial.” That both narrowed things down and made them more complicated. They could rule out anywhere residential, but an industrial basement would be less easily identifiable. “I think there’s a furnace, but it’s cold. I-it’s freezing down here. I gotta – I gotta turn the phone off, Scott, it’s gonna die.”

Panic started surging through Scott again. “Wait, wait, wait,” he urged. He needed more to go on, this wasn’t enough. “What else is there? What do you see?”

“The phone’s dying, I can’t talk. I have to go. Please, just,” Stiles’ voice cracked, sounding almost like a whimper. And something that had been niggling in the back of Scott’s mind since he had first spoken to Stiles in his room finally clicked into place.

“Stiles,” he asked, “Why are you whispering?”

For a moment there was no replying, only the sound of Stiles’ ragged breathing. Then he answered, and his reply made Scott’s blood run cold. 

“Because I think there’s someone in here with me.”

***

It was lucky the streets were relatively empty this late, as he barely paid attention to road in his haste to get to Stiles’ house. That was the first place he could think of to go to; if Stiles had been sleepwalking there might not be any clues as to where he was, but at the very least he and Isaac might be able to pick up a scent and start tracking him. 

The Sherriff was on duty, so Scott took the spare key from its hiding place to let them in. He crashed up the stairs, Isaac on his heels, and flung open the door to Stiles’ room – only to find they weren’t the first ones there. Lydia and Aiden spun around from where they had been looking at the wall as the door slammed open, and all of them stared at each other before Scott regained his composure first.

“How did you know?” he asked Lydia, “Did he call you too?”

“I heard it,” she replied, which wasn’t much of an answer. 

“Don’t ask,” Aiden advised him. “It gets more confusing when you ask.”

Lydia turned back to the mess that was Stiles’ room. “Not as confusing as this.”

The walls were plastered from ceiling to floor with photographs, newspaper clipping, and online articles, all of them in seemingly haphazard order. And stuck to many of them were strands of red string, that together must have added up to miles. Each strand was pulled tightly out from where it was glued to the wall and tied to one of several metal hooks placed around the room. One of the hooks had been driven through the centre of Stiles’ bed. 

Lydia glanced over her shoulder at Scott. “He uses red for unsolved cases.”

“Maybe he thinks he’s part of an unsolved case,” Aiden suggested.

“Or _is_ an unsolved case.” Isaac was looking around the room with distinct unease. 

“What?” Lydia turned on him, anger and concern giving an edge to her words, “Is he still out there? You don’t know where is he?” 

Scott could see his own anxiety mirrored in Lydia’s face. He knew he couldn’t say anything to ease her mind; he didn’t know where Stiles was, and there was no way he could pretend that he did. He was a terrible liar and the worry still gnawing at his own stomach no doubt showed on his face. Besides which, Lydia deserved the truth. The only thing he could do was tell her what he knew.

“He said he’s in an industrial basement somewhere,” he explained.

“We came here to get a better scent,” Isaac added. 

Lydia’s eyes flicked between them. “What else did he say?” 

“Something’s wrong with his leg,” Scott admitted, “It-it’s bleeding.”

“And he’s freezing.”

“Tonight’s the coldest night of the year,” Aiden said grimly, “It’s gonna drop into the twenties.”

Dropping her gaze the floor, Lydia asked quietly, “What did his dad say?”

Scott shifted guiltily where he stood. “We... kind of...,” he looked away. He was uncertain about his promise to Stiles as it was, and he knew as soon that Lydia would only confirm that it had been a wrong decision. But he had to tell her, “We didn’t tell him yet.”

“Stiles is bleeding and freezing and you didn’t call his dad?”

“He made me promise not to,” he said, but the excuse sounded weak to his own ears. Trying to convince himself as much as Lydia, and trying to ignore the way her eyes closed in something akin to despair, he continued, “We can find him by scent. If he was sleepwalking he couldn’t have gotten far, right?”

He looked between her and Aiden, wanting one of them to agree with him, but Aiden’s reply shattered his hopes. “You didn’t notice his jeep was gone, did you?”

It felt like the bottom had plummeted out of Scott’s stomach. The jeep was gone? Stiles was sleep _driving_?

_Oh, crap._

He looked in dismay at Lydia, but she had pulled out her phone. Briefly, she glanced up and said, “You promised you wouldn’t call his dad. I didn’t.”

“Lydia, hold on,” he scrambled to come up with another option, but even as he tried to keep his promise to Stiles there was a small voice at the back of his mind telling him Lydia was right. “I-I can get more help. I can call Derek, Allison--”

“Everyone except for the cops, great idea,” Lydia snapped, unimpressed.

Aiden took a small step forward. “You guys remember she only gets these feelings when someone’s about to _die_ , right?”

Cold flooded through Scott’s body and the small voice in his head was suddenly screaming. He swallowed, hoped Stiles would understand – and if not, well, better an alive Stiles that was pissed at him than a dead Stiles to whom he had kept his promise – and looked at Lydia.

“You don’t have to call his dad. It’s five minutes to the station.”

He started to head out the door, but Lydia threw an arm out to stop Aiden following. “We’ll catch up.”

“What?” Scott turned back into the room. “Why?”

“There’s something here,” Lydia said firmly, certainty etched into every line of her face.

“Yeah,” Isaac said, looking around again. “Evidence of total insanity.”

Once again Scott felt far too young for the burden of responsibility that had somehow been thrust on to his shoulders. He hesitated for a moment, trying to quell his rising panic, and then said in a surprisingly steady voice, “We can figure out what’s wrong with him after we find a way to keep him from freezing to death.”

Lydia’s calm gaze was somehow reassuring. “Go. We’ll be right behind you.”

Scott nodded, and he and Isaac started running back downstairs, leaving her and Aiden to try and figure out what the tangle of red string and the collage of clippings plastered over Stiles’ walls might mean.

***

Sherriff Stilinksi had to take several minutes to compose himself after Scott managed to explain everything to him. All the colour drained from his face and his eyes filled with numb horror. He clenched his fingers against Deputy Parrish’s desk until his knuckles whitened, staring down at the floor and muttering to himself, “Come on, come on.”

Scott didn’t think he had ever seen such a terrible expression on someone’s face before, and he was sure it would branded on his memory. But even though his heart was thumping and he felt sick, he knew he had done the right thing in coming to tell the Sherriff. Lydia had been right. If Stiles had taken the jeep and Scott was unable to catch a scent, the cops were the best placed to find him. 

Finally the Sherriff took a breath and looked up, and Scott could see that he was back in control and had somehow compartmentalised whatever he was feeling; the panic and fear that the father in him must feel was locked away, leaving the chief of police able to think clearly. Scott was reminded of the change that seemed to come over his mother when she took charge and was nursing someone. But he could still hear the frantic beating of the Sherriff’s heart.

“If his jeep is gone, that’s where we start,” Sherriff Stilinski said, voice holding steady. He turned to Deputy Parrish, “Parrish, let’s get an APB out on a blue, nineteen-eighty CJ5 jeep. Cordoma,” he looked to one of the other officers, “I want a list of any industrial basement or sub-level of any building he could have gotten into while sleep-walking.” Addressing the room at large, he added, “It’s the coldest night of the year so far, so if he’s out there barefoot and in just a t-shirt he could already be hypothermic. Let’s move fast. Let’s think fast. The two of you,” he finally turned to Scott and Isaac, “You come with me.”

They followed him into his office, where he shut the door so the rest of his men wouldn’t overhear. 

“Is there anything you need to tell me that I can’t tell everybody out there?”

“Lydia knew he was missing,” Scott confessed.

That didn’t seem to faze the Sherriff. “Then she’ll find him.”

“She’s working on it,” Isaac said.

“Anything else?”

“I called Derek and Allison for help,” Scott replied.

Looking somewhat uncertain, the Sherriff looked between them and asked, “Can you find him by scent?”

Before they could answer, however, there was a tap on the glass door and Deputy Parrish came in without waiting for an answer. “We got it, sir. We found the jeep.”

Things started moving so quickly they were a blur. The Sherriff didn’t just break the speed limit in his haste to get to the hospital, where Stiles’ jeep had been found, he _shattered it_ , suggesting he hadn’t quite bottled up his feelings as well as appeared. 

When they got to hospital they sprinted over to the jeep, but it only took a quick examination to see that Stiles wasn’t in it and hadn’t been for a while.

“It’s dead,” the Sherriff said, “He must have left the lights on.”

Scott looked over his shoulder to the metal-and-glass hospital, wondering if was the darkness or his own fear that was making it look so menacing as it loomed over them. “Why would he come here?”

“Let’s find out.”

The Sherriff had already called Scott’s mom, and Melissa came jogging to meet them as they came through the doors. 

“Security’s doing sweeps of every floor,” she said without preamble, “Nothing yet.”

“What about the basement?”

“Follow me.”

The Sherriff started after Melissa, but Scott had caught another, familiar scent on the air. Grabbing Isaac’s jacket, he let the adults head down to check the basement and followed the scent up the stairs to the roof. Three box lights dimly lit the flat area, which housed mesh wire fences boxing in the generators and other electrical equipment. A tall, dark figure was already there, stood a little way ahead of them.

“He’s not here,” Derek said without turning round. “Not anymore.”

“You mean the whole building?” Scott asked, the small spark of hope lit by the presence of the jeep extinguishing.

“Gone.”

“I’ll go tell Stilinski,” Isaac offered, voice grave.

Scott span around, a thought crossing his mind. “And see if you can find Allison. She’s not answering her phone.”

Isaac gave a tiny nod and disappeared back down the stairs. Scott crossed the remaining space on the roof to stand shoulder-to-shoulder to Derek. The older werewolf was quiet for a moment, holding himself very still, taking in the air around them. 

“Notice how strong that scent is up here? You ever hear of chemo-signals?” he finally asked. At Scott’s blank look, he elaborated, “Chemical signals, that communicate emotion, which in our sweat can give off anger, fear, disgust.” He paused, looking back around the roof. “Take a deep breath, and tell me what you feel.”

Scott closed his eyes and inhaled, focusing on the smell that flooded his nostrils. It was a strange experience – it was the familiar smell of Stiles, but there was an arid edge to it, a ... a kind of sharpness, that when Scott concentrated on it made his body tense in response and his mind want to recoil. “Stress.”

“And anxiety,” Derek nodded.

“What was he doing up here?” Scott asked, unable to keep the slight quaver from his voice. 

“I don’t know,” Derek said, almost infuriatingly calm, “But there was definitely some kind of struggle.”

Struggle? “With who?”

“Himself.”

Scott swallowed hard, that sense of panic starting to claw its way back up towards his throat. He wondered if this was how Stiles felt when he had a panic attack. If this was how Stiles was feeling right now. 

“Okay, so what do we do? Can we follow it?”

Derek considered. “Maybe. It’s strong here because he was struggling, his emotions were running high, so it left more of an imprint. But he’s been gone for a while, and it’s weaker away from here. So I don’t know.”

Shoulders slumping a little, Scott tried to rally and come up with a plan of action. They knew he wasn’t at the hospital. But he had left here on foot, so he couldn’t be far. “So ... we go to other places familiar to him. Close by. Maybe he went to the school or something ...”

“I’ll check it out. You stay with the Sherriff, in case the police find anything.”

As Derek turned and started heading for the stairs, Scott hesitated, then called him back. “Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“What if ...” He didn’t want to voice what was currently going through his head, but he couldn’t ignore it. “What if this ... isn’t just Stiles sleepwalking? What if it’s something to do with the nogitsune? Or the oni?”

“What, you think one of them kidnapped him?”

Frustrated, Scott shook his head. “No. I don’t know. I just ... can it really be a coincidence?”

Derek’s mouth tightened slightly. “Probably not. But that’s something we’ll have to deal with once we find him.”

“Yeah. I guess. I just don’t like this running about, when we don’t really know what we’re doing or how to find him.”

“You have a better idea?”

Hesitant, Scott’s gaze flickered away to the floor. He did have another suggestion, something Isaac had actually pointed out on the way to the police station, but he knew Derek wasn’t going to like it. And truth be told he didn’t know if it would even work. But Stiles’ life might be at stake. He had to do everything he possibly could to try and find him. That had to be his first priority.

“Okay, I know that look,” Derek said, “What is it?”

“Well. The witch. Melinda. She said if we needed her help...”

As he had expected, Derek didn’t look happy. They had argued about Melinda more than once since that first disastrous meeting. But he did look more thoughtful than Scott had thought he might, which was a good sign.

“Her power was freezing stuff and then blowing it up, Scott. Not finding missing people.”

“But she did say she could do spells, so maybe there’s a spell to find a missing person.”

This time Derek looked away, frowning at the wall. He seemed to be having some kind of internal fight until, finally, he turned back and nodded. “Alright. But first I check the school, and you see if Lydia’s figured anything out or if the police have anything new. If we can’t find anything, then you can try calling her. But only then. It can be her chance to prove herself.” 

***

Scott was on his way back to the station with the Sherriff when Lydia called to say Stiles was at Eichen House. The Sherriff immediately did a U-turn in the middle of the road and, after radioing in to the rest of the force, started off across town, once again switching the lights on his car on and pressing the accelerator to the floor. 

Aiden and Lydia were already waiting for them at the entrance when they pulled up, staring up at the wrought-iron gates as though they might provide the answers they were looking for. Eichen House itself was a huge manor house, that in the day might look like a nice hotel but in the pressing darkness, stripped of most of its colour, seemed to promise ghosts and spectres to anyone who stepped foot inside. 

The Sherriff jogged from the car to the gates, calling Lydia’s name in greeting. Her head snapped round, eyes wide, as if she hadn’t even noticed them pulling up.

“I don’t want to say ‘are you sure about this’,” The Sherriff started, apologetic, “But--”

“No, he’s here. I swear to God he’s here,” Lydia insisted.

Silently accepting her word, the Sherriff and the other officers looked upwards at the gate as she had been doing. They stood several feet tall, and a thick brick wall stretched away on either side. No one said anything, but the question seemed to hover in the air anyway: how could Stiles possibly have gotten in?

They were let in by a rather surprised and nervous maintenance worker, and stormed through the glossy, white-walled and wooden-floored entrance hall to the Reception. The orderly at the desk sat up straight as they approached, looking a little unnerved by the presence of so many police officers.

“I need access to all basement rooms in this facility,” the Sherriff said before he could speak. 

Another maintenance worker was called, but was barely needed – Lydia dived ahead as soon they were let past Reception and practically flew through the hallways, Scott, Aiden and the Sherriff right at her heels. She swung down a set of stairs and into another corridor before she slowed.

“It’s here,” she said, her eyes fixed on the door straight ahead of them, “It’s right here.”

The Sherriff went first, flashlight in hand, down another dark flight of stairs, Lydia calling out anxiously from behind him, “Stiles?”

They found themselves in a large, industrial basement, with what looked like a back-up generator and a furnace, and several decades worth of storage draped in tarps. But there was no sign of any human life. The walls and floor were coated in dust and cobwebs, and the stacks of boxes and other junk didn’t appear to have been disturbed in years. Nor, Scott noted with rising fear, was there any smell or scent of Stiles having been there; there was a musty odour, almost like the smell of decay, but no human emotions or scents other than their own.

But there had to be something! Lydia had been so sure, her powers couldn’t have led them here without there being something, some reason. 

He turned to her, but she looked just as lost and confused as he felt. Trying to swallow any panic, he took a step towards her. “Lydia?”

She looked around, and even in the dim lighting looked paler than usual. 

“I don’t get it,” she said, voice hushed and desperate. “This has to be it.”

“Then where is he, huh?” The Sherriff asked, “Where is he? _Where is he_?” 

The last words were a shout, all the fear and anxiety he had been pushing down suddenly bursting out of him. The force of it made Lydia stumble backwards, screwing her face up as though she expected him to keep yelling. When he didn’t she opened her eyes again and tentatively met his gaze; he seemed as taken aback by his outburst as she was. Scott tensed, unsure what to do. On the one hand he understood the Sherriff’s feelings, but on the other it wasn’t really Lydia’s fault: she was just as worried about Stiles as they were, and she didn’t really understand her powers. 

“I-I’m sorry,” The Sherriff said, voice quiet.

Lydia’s eyes dropped to the floor and she whispered, “I don’t understand.”

Taking her hand, Aiden gently led her back up the stairs. Scott and the Sherriff silently followed, more troubled than before. What did it mean that Lydia, who had sensed Stiles was in trouble, had led them here? And if he wasn’t here, then where the hell was Stiles and how were they going to find him? As that question burned in Scott's mind, determination settled over him like a mantle. He only had one option left. He was going to do what he should have done from the start.

He was going to call Melinda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I was planning on doing the whole episode in this chapter, but it got too long so I'm splitting it in two. As you can see, I'm planning on sticking as closely as possible to the canon while tweaking things to fit my AU.
> 
> Most of the dialogue is from 3x18, "Riddled".


	6. Sparks Fly

Scott was on the phone to Derek as soon as they were out of the basement and he had signal on his phone. There was no sign of Stiles at the school either, sending Scott’s stomach plummeting another few feet. “In that case, I’m calling Melinda.” He felt Aiden and Lydia glance sideways at him, but ignored it. “Like we agreed.”

He expected arguing, but to his surprise Derek just said, “Okay.” 

Maybe he, too, had realised they were out of options. 

Once they were back outside Eichen House, Scott signalled to Lydia and Aiden and they slipped around the corner, away from the police, while the Sherriff checked in with Parrish and his other deputies to see if they had had any more luck.

“Okay, who’s Melinda?” Aiden immediately asked.

“The witch. The one we set the beacon for.”

“Someone answered that?” Lydia was momentarily sparked out of her despondency. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Scott looked away guiltily. “Because, Derek yelled at her and frightened her off. And I didn’t know if I’d be able to contact her again.”

“But you can?”

“I ... think.” 

After the debacle with Derek, Scott had gone to ask Deaton’s advice, since he was the one who had told them to contact a witch in the first place. Deaton had seemed impressed that the beacon had been answered so quickly, and even more so when Scott told him who had answered it. The Halliwells, he was informed, were the oldest, most powerful family of witches in the USA. If Melinda really was a Halliwell, then she was an ally worth having. 

Scott had been cursing Derek after hearing that, and then had to confess that she had left rather angrily without leaving a phone number. But that, to his surprise, had only made Deaton laugh. Since Melinda was half-whitelighter, now that a connection had been made between them he didn’t need a phone number. According to Deaton, he just needed to literally call her, and she should come. 

“You think?”

“I can at least try.” He took a breath, and, feeling more than a little like an idiot, said out loud, “Melinda. Melinda, I need your help.”

For a few, agonising seconds, there was nothing. The air stayed still, the only sound that of the Sherriff’s voice and no one magically appearing. Scott could sense the scepticism on Aiden’s face and felt his cheeks heat with humiliation and desperation. 

“Melinda, please.”

Then the blue lights that had indicating her appearance last time flickered into being before him, coalescing in a rush into a human shape. Melinda stood on the sidewalk in front of him, rubbing her eyes sleepily and looking very much like she’d just gotten out of bed in sweats and a loose t-shirt, her hair tied back into two thick braids but with stray strands sticking randomly up. The triquetra pendant was still around her neck, though, he noticed.

“Scott?” she said in a tired voice, then glanced warily at Lydia and Aiden next to him. Scott turned, and then wondered if he, Isaac and Derek had looked that surprised the first time she had appeared. 

“Melinda, this is Lydia and Aiden. Banshee, werewolf,” he explained quickly, pointing. “Guys, this is Melinda. The, uh, witch.”

“Witch ... right ...” Aiden said in a strangled voice.

Melinda nodded in vague greeting, then turned back to Scott. “What’s wrong?”

“My best friend, Stiles, is missing, and we can’t find him.” Scott said, pleadingly, “We need your help.” 

“What do you mean ‘missing’?” she asked, more alert.

“You know, missing?” Aiden answered, voice heavy with sarcasm. “Cannot be found? He’s gone. And we don’t know where he is.”

Melinda shot him a sour look, and, afraid she might disappear again, Scott tried to send him a silent signal that said, _Can you please not antagonise the witch?_ Aiden didn’t seem to get it though, frowning in confusion and shrugging as if to say, _What?_

“I meant,” Melinda said through gritted teeth, “What sort of missing. Has he been kidnapped, do you think this has something to do with the nogistune or the oni? Or did he just disappear, not turn up somewhere he was supposed to be?”

Hurriedly, Scott tried to give a concise account of everything that had happened since Stiles had first called him, although it came out rather more garbled that he meant, especially when it got to trying to explain his conversation with Derek on the hospital roof. Lydia interjected here and there to mention how she was involved and why they were now at Eichen House.

“... but he’s not here, or at the school, and we don’t have another trail to follow,” Scott finished, “Is there something you can do? A-a spell, or something?”

To his immense relief, Melinda nodded. “I can scry for him. I’ll need a map of Beacon Hills, and something that belongs to this, uh, Stiles.”

“What kind of something?” Lydia asked.

“Something personal. A piece of clothing, a favourite object, that sort of thing.”

“What about his car? The hospital’s closer than his house, and he keeps a map in it.”

Melinda looked thoughtful. “I’ve never tried with something that big, but it should probably work. I’ll need to go home and grab my scrying crystal. Call me again when you get the hospital, okay?”

Scott nodded, and she disappeared again in a swirl of flashing blue lights.

He quickly tapped out a text to Derek as they headed back around the corner before anyone noticed they were gone, telling him the plan. They couldn’t tell the Sherriff directly what was going on, not with the other officers there, but he seemed to gather from Scott’s expression when he said they should double-check Stiles’ car that they had thought of something else. 

Once the Sherriff sent the officers back to the stations with instructions to contact him with any other leads, and they all bundled into his car and started speeding back towards the hospital, Scott was able to give a short explanation. “We – I – recently met a, uh, a witch. And she’s gonna try and find Stiles.”

“A witch? You’re telling me witches are real now? You’ve gotta be kidding,” the Sherriff grumbled, exasperated, but unable to entirely conceal the glimmer of hope underneath his words. At least not to Scott.

“We only found out a couple of days ago.”

The Sherriff gave a murmured agreement, but they could all hear him muttering under his breath. “Witches, now. What’s next, aliens?”

“Aliens aren’t really the same thing ...” Aiden started, but a double-ended glare from both Lydia and Scott quickly shut him up.

Derek was waiting for them by Stiles’ car when they pulled up; he had clearly already searched the car, as he was holding a map in one hand. Opening the car door, Scott called for Melinda as he had before and this time she showed up immediately, shimmering into being next to the jeep - Scott thought he heard the Sherriff hiss, “God _dammit_ ,” as he climbed out of the passenger side. 

“Did you bring the map?” Melinda called as Scott came over to her. 

“Here.” Derek held it out. She started, not having seen him in the nearby shadows, and something like disappointment flickered over her features . “Hello again.”

“Hi.” Her voice was cool, but she took the map without comment and spread it out on the ground next to the jeep. Kneeling down, she held her hand out over the map and let a small, purplish crystal drop from her fingers. It was attached to a thread wrapped around her fingers and jerked to a halt just above the map’s surface. 

Aiden gave a derisive snort. “Are you serious? That looks like hippy jewellery. How is that going to help you find Stiles?”

Melinda didn’t answer, but instead flicked her free hand towards Aiden. Lydia and the Sherriff gave little gasps when they realised he had frozen in place, and even Derek’s eyebrows shot up. “New rule,” Melinda said, looking at Scott, “Any time one of your friends is a jackass when I’m trying to _help_ , I freeze them.”

“Um. Got it,” Scott mumbled, not really sure how to respond. He wasn’t entirely sure if she meant it or was just frustrated, but he was too anxious for her to find Stiles to worry about it right at this moment.

“Is he ...?” The Sherriff started, “I mean ... is it permanent?”

“What? No. It’ll wear off in a bit. He’ll be fine. But right now, I need quiet.”

Taking a breath, she lifted her free hand and pressed it against the jeep, then focused on the map in front of her. Slowly she started moving the crystal over the surface of the map and, as Scott watched, the crystal started gently swinging in a circular motion, although her hand didn’t seem to be moving. He glanced over at Derek, who had abandoned all pretence at indifference and was watching with interest, and who, catching Scott’s look, gave a slight shrug of one shoulder to indicate that, no, he didn’t really know what was happening either.

When Scott looked back the crystal was swinging more violently, the circle it was tracing more wide, as Melinda moved it – and then, with a _thunk_ , it suddenly dropped down like a lead weight and buried its point in the map. 

“There.” Melinda pointed. “He’s there.”

Leaning over her to get a closer look, Scott followed the lines of the map to where the crystal had landed. 

“That’s where the coyote den is,” he said, confused, “Where we found Malia Tate. But Stiles said he was in a basement.”

“Are you sure that’s where he is?” Derek asked.

“Yes.” Melinda was emphatic, but she was frowning herself. “That’s where he is. But I can scry again to check.”

She held the crystal out over the map again, but after a while circling the map it once again dropped down on to the stretch of road at the edge of town where the coyote den was located. Scott glanced up at Derek and the Sherriff.

“We should check it out at least.”

“I can orb you there,” Melinda offered, getting to her feet, “It’ll be a lot quicker than driving.”

It was at that moment that Scott’s phone started ringing. He grabbed it eagerly, in case it was Stiles, but was surprised to see his mom’s photo flashing on the screen. “Mom? Can I --”

“We’ve got Stiles.”

“What? You found him?”

Everyone turned to listen. The Sherriff’s whole body seemed to crumple in relief, and he lifted a hand to cover his face, while Lydia closed her eyes a let out a long, shaking breath.

“Well, it was really your dad that found him,” Melissa said, in that same tone of voice she used every time she was trying to persuade Scott to give his dad a chance, to talk to him or spend time with him.

His dad? Scott opened his mouth to clarify that, but then decided it was a question that could wait for later.

“Where was he?” Scott asked, catching Melinda’s eye.

“Outside town, at the coyote den. He’s been asleep this whole time, dreaming he was trapped in some kind of basement.”

“The coyote den,” he repeated. Some tension seemed to ease out of Melinda’s body, and Scott suspected that she had been afraid that she was wrong and the scrying had somehow gone awry. He noticed Derek’s eyes turning on her appraisingly, and wondered if she had sufficiently proved herself.

Absently he realised his mom was still talking. “.... driving him back to the hospital. I’ve called ahead so they’ll be ready. We’ll meet you there.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, we’ll see you soon.” He hung up and took a deep breath, feeling the panic and fear of the last few hours drain out of him and leaving him feeling exhausted and unsteady on his own feet. He turned to the Sherriff. “They’re on their way back here, Mom already let the hospital know.”

The Sherriff nodded, and turned away to radio back to Deputy Parrish and let the other officers know what was going on.

Lydia still looked pale and shaky, and Scott reached out to gently touch her shoulder. “Hey, he’s okay, Lydia.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, nodding.

Scott shuffled his feet, unsure what to do or say now. In the end he didn’t have to decide, as Derek cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Okay, so, you guys are gonna wait here, right? So, I’ll take Aiden and we can get the jeep jump started.”

“That would be nice,” Scott agreed, a little surprised.

“Right. If you wouldn’t mind ....?” Derek looked to Melinda and indicated the still-frozen Aiden. 

“Huh? Oh, right.” She gave another flick of her hand and Aiden started moving again, looking around at them expectantly. By the time Scott realised he was waiting for them to reply to his earlier remark, the beta had realised that they had all moved places.

“What-” he started, but Derek grabbed him by the collar and hauled him off. Scott assumed he would give an abridged explanation.

That just left Melinda, who looked at Scott. “Right. So, I should probably head home. If you need me or anything, you know ...”

“Could you stay?” Scott blurted out. “For a bit longer. I mean. Just in case ...”

In case they still had to deal with anything supernatural.

She hesitated a moment, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, sure I can.”

Somehow that made Scott feel a bit better and together, he, Melinda and Lydia waited for the Sherriff to finish his radio call to the station and then they all made their way up to the hospital.

It took about twenty minutes for Scott’s parents to arrive with Stiles, and then over another hour while he was bundled off for every possible test the hospital could run. The Sherriff went with his son, leaving the others to wait anxiously for news; the only glimpse Scott got of his best friend was as he was rushed in on a gurney, in muddied and torn pyjamas, looking cold, tired and frightened. But he was alive, and he was safe. That was something. 

Time seemed to crawl by as they sat in silence in the hard plastic chairs in the waiting room. Awkward introductions were exchanged between Melinda and the McCalls, who seemed a little confused as to why their son had roused a college aged girl from her bed to help find Stiles. With Rafael present they couldn’t give the real reason, and so conversation quickly petered out after Scott stumbled over an excuse about Melinda knowing Derek and offering to help.

When the Sherriff finally returned, it was past two in the morning and they were all ready to fall asleep where they sat, or stood.

“He’s sleeping now. And he’s just fine.” Scott could feel Lydia’s relief as though it was radiating off her. “He doesn’t remember much. It’s been like a dream to him.” The Sherriff’s eyes moved to Agent McCall. “Thank you.”

“It was that repellent we sprayed in the coyote den, to keep other animals out.” Rafael explained. “I couldn’t go near it without my eyes watering. It’s just a good thing he mentioned it over the phone.”

“It was more than that. Thank you.”

Rafael shook his head. “It was a lucky connection.”

“McCall!” The Sherriff held up his hands in exasperation. “Can you shut up, please? And accept my sincerest gratitude.”

Rafael was quiet a moment, then held out his hand. “Accepted.”

While they shook, Melissa turned to Scott and Lydia. “Alright you two, you’ve got school in less than six hours. Go home and go to sleep. And, uh, Melinda, thanks for coming out.”

“Okay,” Scott said, hugging his mom. Then, since Lydia still seemed in a slight state of shock, he took her hand and gently started leading her towards the exit, with Melinda following close behind.

“I don’t know what happened,” Lydia said as they walked. “I was so _sure_.”

She looked beseechingly towards Melinda, as though the witch might have answers for her. Melinda looked a little taken aback, then, biting her lip, shook her head apologetically. “I don’t know that much about banshee powers. The, uh, the only banshees my family have dealt with were more into taking lives than saving them.” When that made Lydia blanch, she quickly tried to backtrack, “Not that you’re ... I don’t mean you’ll become like that, I just ... I do know there are no coincidences. If your powers led you to Eichen House, it’s for a reason.” 

Seeing this wasn’t doing much to reassure Lydia, Scott tried to step in. “I wasn’t much help either. Doesn’t matter if he’s okay.” 

But Lydia was no longer listening. She was looking back over her shoulder, then turned around and stared straight ahead as though she was listening for something else.

“Lydia?” Scott asked, “Do you hear something?”

There was a pause, then Lydia said quietly, “No. I don’t hear anything.”

Scott wasn’t entirely sure he believed her.

They filed slowly back out to the hospital’s parking lot. After checking that there was no one around, Melinda turned to face them. “So. I should go.”

“Yeah, right ... thank you, for your help,” Scott said, feeling a little guilty for dragging her out of bed for no reason in the end, but still glad that he knew she was still willing to help. If he had called her first thing tonight, they would have found Stiles in seconds – who knew how else she could help them out?

“Of course. Although it doesn’t really seem like you needed me.” She spoke jokingly, but there was an odd inflection to her words. “But about this nogitsune ...”

“Yeah, look, I’m really sorry about what Derek said before. But if you can help at all,” he said quickly, leaving the invitation hanging in the air.

She gave a tiny smile. “I can try, at least. But there’s some things we should probably talk about. Maybe call me tomorrow, when you’re finished school?”

“Sure, okay.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” She lifted a hand in a half-wave and then disappeared in her signature swirl of lights, leaving Scott to walk Lydia home before finally being able to return to his own bed and glean a precious few hours of sleep.

***

School the next day passed mostly in a haze of tiredness. Scott barely heard what his teachers were saying in his classes, their voices drifting over him like background noise. More than once he caught his eyes fluttering closed and he had to force them open again. He had promised his mom he would keep his grades up this year, and ‘trying to stop a nogitsune from murdering everyone in town’ probably wouldn’t go down well with the school as extenuating circumstances. 

Sitting in the locker room that afternoon, mulling over what had happened to Stiles the night before and the suspicions that had started to grow in Scott’s mind – as much as he tried to push them down and pretend otherwise, he couldn’t ignore them entirely – he sent a text to Deaton to ask about the emissary’s investigations. Deaton seemed to have some sort of idea about something that would help them contain, maybe slow the nogitsune down, give them more time to figure out how to stop it permanently.

_Anything yet?_

The reply was almost instantaneous. _Still working on it._

That wasn’t particularly reassuring, but he knew Deaton was doing the best he could. Still, it was with a heavy knot of anxiety that he made his way back out into the corridor, so preoccupied with his thoughts that he was barely aware of the world around him. 

It didn’t help to receive a phone call from his mom during lunch, to tell him that they were going to have a run some tests on Stiles. They seemed to think the sleepwalking and his previous exhaustion were something more; the symptoms Stiles was showing matched the symptoms his mom had had before she died.

Hearing that felt like a physical blow, making his stomach curdle with nausea as though it was trying to claw its way up out of this throat. 

He wasn’t the only one feeling out of things, as he realised later that afternoon when he was exchanging his books between classes. Someone nearby slammed their locker closed, and Lydia, who was leaning against the lockers waiting for Scott, jumped almost out of her skin and looked wildly around as though it was a gun-shot. 

Frowning with mild concern, Scott paused in pulling out his book. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lydia said faintly, after a moment. “Just a little hyper-sensitive to loud sounds today.”

Another locker slammed and Lydia flinched as though the sound was reverberating throughout her entire body. Scott looked towards the noise, which had barely registered with him, and then back at Lydia, wondering if this was just tiredness affecting her or something more. 

“They’re doing ... tests, on Stiles, all afternoon,” he said after a moment. It was partly to try and distract and partly because he needed to talk to _someone_ about it, and he knew Lydia cared about Stiles. “I was gonna go there around six, to visit. You wanna come with me?”

Lydia didn’t look at him, but said quietly after a moment’s pause, “I should probably just go home.”

A locker slammed again and she gave another shudder, this one much bigger than the others. Scott looked around in alarm, unsure what to do or say to help. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Lydia’s eyes moved to him as though she wasn’t entirely sure what was happening and Scott felt a jolt of panic slip beneath his ribcage until something cleared in her expression. 

“Yeah,” she said, then moved away from the lockers with a faint shake of her head. “I’ll text you later.” She walked away down the corridor, leaving Scott staring worriedly after her.

***

It was a relief to get home that night, to dump his things and collapse on to the couch. He was so tired he didn’t even both to turn the lights on or take his shoes off. Not that there was anyone there to tell him off for it: Isaac was over at Allison’s, helping her figure out some Japanese voicemail that had been left on her phone last night; and his mom was still at the hospital with Stiles and his dad, and Scott would join them after he’d eaten something.

After he had eaten, and after he had talked with Melinda. She had said last night that there were things she needed to tell him about the nogitsune, and after last night there were definitely some things he wanted to talk to her about. 

Dragging himself off the couch, he flipped on the lights and called tiredly, “Melinda!”

A few seconds passed before she appeared in the middle of the room. She looked more awake than she had when he called her the previous night, but there were dark shadows cutting underneath her bright eyes to match the ones Scott and Lydia were wearing. 

“Hey,” she said, wearing a gentle smile. 

“Hey,” Scott smiled back. He wasn’t sure how to launch right into things, so waved a hand at the kitchen. “You, uh, want something to eat while we talk?”

“Um. Yeah, sure okay.” 

He heated up some macaroni and cheese for the two of them (the extent of his cooking skills), and they sat up at the counter to eat it. It took a few mouthfuls before one of them broke the awkward silence and spoke. 

“How’s your friend?” Melinda asked.

“Still at the hospital. They’re running some tests ... I’m gonna go over in a bit.”

Melinda nodded, and in the silence that followed Scott struggled to find the courage to ask the question that had been plaguing him all day.

“Do you think ... do you think that could have something to do with the nogitsune?” His voice was hoarse as he said the words, but the fact that Melinda could be more objective, that he still didn’t really know her, somehow made it easier to ask. “Last night, I mean?”

She paused, and seemed to think the question over carefully before answering. “Possibly. Nogitsune are creatures of chaos. They want pain, destruction and disorder. You were all pretty panicked and afraid last night. It is the sort of thing a nogitsune would ... take pleasure in.”

Scott felt his heart constrict, although there were a rubber band around it, squeezing it tight. If it was the nogitsune, did that mean it had some connection to Stiles? Did it mean that Stiles was ... was ... But if it wasn’t the nogitsune, then what was the alternative? That Stiles was sick? Possibly with the same condition his mom had died from?

It was a struggle to see which was the preferable option here.

“Scott.” He looked up to meet Melinda’s eyes. They were soft with sympathy, but there was a hardness to them, a kind of determination, that reminded Scott of Deaton – and of Derek. “Nogitsune are incredibly powerful. I’m making the strongest potions I can, but even if I can force it out of its host, vanquishing it isn’t going to be easy. If it’s even possible.”

Wasn’t he going to get any good news today? “So what do we do?”

“We have to find a power greater than it, to trap it and contain. That might be the only way to neutralise it.”

“A power greater than it? Like what?”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure yet. But there’s more.” A sinking feeling washed over Scott. “Nogitsune have to be summoned, Scott, usually by another kitsune. And so do oni. They don’t just appear.” 

Scott frowned. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying there’s another player in Beacon Hills. Someone summoned this nogitsune, and someone summoned the oni to destroy it. Maybe the same person, trying to clean up their mess. Or maybe two different people, and you’re being dragged into a much bigger war here.” 

“A war?” Scott repeated numbly, sitting back in his chair. All he could think of was Deaton’s warning that they might draw things, other supernatural creatures, to Beacon Hills, by his, Allison’s and Stiles’ sacrifice last year. Maybe they had. Maybe they had turned Beacon Hills into the centre of a supernatural battle, for someone to try and use a nogitsune for revenge the way Matt and then Gerard had tried to use Jackson. He looked at Melinda, feeling much more like a scared seventeen-year-old than an Alpha werewolf, and asked again, “So what do we do?”

“We have to find whoever summoned them. It might be safer to try and find who summoned the oni first, since they’re clearly trying to stop the nogitsune, but if we go straight to the source maybe we’ll find a way to stop or contain the nogitsune, I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Look, I’m gonna try and write a tracing spell, so we can find our way back to the summoner. But it might take me a while to get it right. In the meantime, you and your friends do some digging around and see if you can find any leads here, okay?”

Having a plan, an idea of what to do next, bolstered his confidence and he nodded. “Okay. I’ll let you know if we find anything.” 

“Good. And let me know if anything changes, or you need any help.”

“Right.”

“Okay. Then I’ll go and get working on that spell, and let you visit your friend. I’ll talk to you later.”

It wasn’t until the blue lights had faded that it occurred to Scott that he should have asked if there was some magic that could fix Stiles if he really was sick. 

***

When he got to the hospital, they were about to start an MRI scan. Stiles looked smaller and skinnier than ever in the draping hospital robes, sat next to the huge, white machine while they waited for the doctor to go over his file with the Sherriff and Melissa. Scott didn’t know what to say, so he picked at his fingernails while the doctor expressed the usual confusion over Stiles’ first name.

“I’m not sure I know how to pronounce this, or if it’s not actually a misspelling ...” He looked to the Sherriff for clarification. 

“Just call him Stiles,” the Sherriff replied, as always.

“Okay. Stiles.” The doctor turned and walked over to the boys. Stiles looked up, but Scott kept his eyes on his hands. “Just to warn you, you’re going to hear a lot of noise during the MRI. It’s due to pulses of electricity going through the metal coils inside the machine. If you want we can get you some earplugs, or headphones?”

“Uh, no. No, I don’t need anything,” Stiles said, shaking his head.

The Sherriff, who had moved closer to his son, looked at him reassuringly, eyes fixed on his face. “Hey. We’re just on the other side of that window. Okay?”

“Okay.”

The Sherriff hesitated a moment, then smiled proudly. It was a real smile, Scott could tell, because it reached up to crinkle the skin around his eyes. He and Melissa turned to leave, and Stiles reached out to pat his dad on the shoulder – as though the Sherriff was the one that needed reassurance. The doctor followed the adults out, leaving Scott and Stiles alone.

Scott was still twisting his fingers around one another, unable to look up. But there was no mistaking the flatness in Stiles’ voice when he said, “You know what they’re looking for, right?”

Scott lifted his eyes, but couldn’t bring himself to look around and so gave the opposite wall a tiny, fractional nod.

“It’s called fronto-temporal dementia,” Stiles continued. Scott glanced over; the same flatness was in Stiles’ eyes and he sounded tired, resigned, as if it was something he had heard or explained a thousand times before. Which it probably was, although not for these reasons. It was unbearable, and Scott quickly looked away again, fighting the tears scratching at the back of his eyes. “Areas of your brain start to ... shrink. It’s what my mother had. It’s the only form of dementia that can ... hit teenagers. And there’s no cure.”

Scott closed his eyes, wanting to hurl things, to scream and shout and punch holes in the walls and the MRI, as if that would make this not real. When he opened them again, some of the tears he had been trying to force back had instead slipped free and were clinging to his eyelashes.

“Stiles, if you have it,” he said, and was surprised at how steady his voice was. “We’ll do something.” He looked up, and finally met Stiles’ gaze. Sudden determination flooded him; Stiles was his best friend. His _brother_. He would not give him up with a damned fight, not without doing anything and everything to save him. “I’ll do something.”

He could see the question in Stiles’ eyes – how far would he go? – and nodded.

He would do something. He would get down on his knees and beg Melinda for a magical cure. He would get Deaton to search the world over for some rare herb. He would give Stiles the Bite. Whatever it took.

He would not let his brother die.

Stiles held his gaze for a moment, his dark eyebrows pulled together and tears making his own eyes bright, then nodded himself. Then they were both reaching for each other and holding each other tightly, brothers both comforting and taking comfort from the fear and the anxiety, silently pledging that whatever happened they would get through it together.

***

Scott wasn’t allowed in the control room while they did the actual scan, so went to sit in the waiting room outside. Time dragged, and he wasn’t sure how long he had been waiting when the elevator at the end of the hallway opened and Derek came striding out. Scott went to get up, but the older werewolf motioned for him to stay where he was and instead came over and sat down in the chair opposite him.

He shrugged off his jacket and then leaned forward, elbows on his knees, to look at Scott. He was as serious as usual, but there was still something slightly different about his air; rather than seemed angry or darkly brooding, he looked thoughtful. Calmer, somehow. There was a time, Scott remembered, when Derek’s presence had been intimidating and made him uneasy. Now it was reassuring to have him here.

“We need to talk.”

Scott leaned forward himself, mirroring Derek’s posture without realising. “Yeah.”

“How is he?” 

“Okay, I guess,” Scott said. “As much as he can be.”

Derek nodded. “And you?”

“Yeah. I’m okay.” He paused. Derek seemed to sense he had more to say, and gave him the time to collect his thoughts. “You know, ah, that stuff about chemo-signals you were telling me earlier? It really reminded me of the time you were teaching me to use anger to control the shift.”

A ghost of a smile flitted over Derek’s face. “I think you ended up teaching me more about that.”

An answering smile tugged at Scott’s lips. He glanced away for a moment, remembering the trouble he had had controlling the shfit until he had realised Allison anchored him, soothed that anger away. Then he slid his eyes back to Derek. “You teaching me again?”

“Think of it more like ... sharing a few trade secrets,” Derek suggested. “You know I took Cora back to South America, right? It’s where she spent most of her time after the fire. But that’s ... not the only reason I left.”

It wasn’t that surprised to learn that Derek had had other reasons for leaving besides seeing his sister back to safety. He hadn’t really said goodbye, but there was something about his absence that spoke of more than just a short trip across the border. 

What Scott didn’t expect was the explanation he now gave.

“I needed to talk to my mother.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Your _dead_ mother?”

It was probably not the most tactful way to put it, but apparently dead didn’t have to mean dead when it came to the Hales so it wasn’t unreasonable to want clarification.

“She told me something that changed my perspective,” Derek said, ignoring him. “On a lot of things. She said my family didn’t just live in Beacon Hills. They protected it. This town needs someone to protect it. Someone like you.”

Any questions Scott had about how Derek was conversing with his dead mother were pushed aside by that last statement. The trust implicit in Derek’s words and the confidence in his eyes as he looked at Scott were unexpected, a little overwhelming, and uplifting in a way Scott couldn’t quite express. It made him feel like there was hope. That there was still a way to put things right.

But he knew he couldn’t do it alone.

“And someone like you to teach me a few trade secrets,” he said. 

Derek nodded, smiling faintly, but if he was going to say anything else Scott didn’t notice. Something had been set off his brain, and pieces were rapidly clicking together. He stood up, as though the movement would help him keep up with his thoughts.

“He was trying to protect us,” he murmured to himself. Then he turned to Derek and said again, more loudly, “Stiles was _protecting_ us.”

He could see the same understanding dawning on Derek. “From himself.”

They raced up to the rooftop where Stiles had been the previous night, Derek following Scott’s lead. They burst through the door into the darkness of the evening; everything looked just as it had the previous night, but now Scott was certain there was something they had missed.

“What are we looking for?” Derek asked, as Scott headed towards the far side of the roof.

“I’m not sure. But I don’t think Stiles was up here just struggling with himself, I think he was struggling _not_ to do something.”

The scent of Stiles emotions was weaker now, having faded during the day, but it was just enough for Scott to follow it to where it was strongest. He found himself facing one of the mesh fences boxing in the external electrical equipment, but there was no sign of anything else amiss ... he frowned, looked around, and then his eyes landing on a square block that could act a step for Stiles to reach to stop of the enclosure.

Stepping up on to it, Scott reached up to the top and swept his hand around. He wasn’t sure what he thought he might find, but when he hand brushed material he knew he had been right. Snagging his fingers on what he could reach, he pulled whatever was up there down – and a canvas gym back crashed to the floor with a loud clatter. Tools came spilling out: wires, cutters, pliers, everything someone might need to interfere with the equipment up here. Scott met Derek’s eyes, and the two of them started looking for some sign of what the tools had been used for.

It wasn’t until Scott looked up that he saw the sparks spitting from the damaged cable.

They moved back just in time, and even then had to dive further back to avoid the explosion of white electricity. Scott lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the intensity of the light, a bright inferno sparking and hissing in the darkness. When he could see again, Scott realised the cable had snapped and was writhing over the roof like it was alive and convulsing. Sparks showered down on to the roof from the frayed end, a close-up, deadly fireworks display. 

It thrashed around with more and more power rising up and slicing through the air until finally it soared over the edge of the roof and down towards the ground below – straight, Scott saw with wordless horror as he dashed to the edge and looked down, towards Kira.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I've been watching _Charmed _on Netflix, and as a result this idea came to me when watching 'Silverfinger' and refused to go away.__
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _2\. I'm aware that technically the timelines of the Charmed children and Teen Wolf cast don't match up, but I'm using my authorial powers of fudging to ignore this.__  
>   
> 
> _  
> _3\. I am planning on including the canon events of TW 3B as they air, but obviously will have to change them slightly to fit with this AU.__  
>   
> 
> _  
> _4\. I hope you enjoy it!__  
> 


End file.
